Passing of Time
by adventurer17
Summary: When Sophie Devon wakes up in Elizabeth Bennet's body she finds herself playing the part of the heroine in her favorite book. But what challenges lay ahead when the game begins turning into a reality and her heart starts being pulled by two different men in two very different times? Lost in Austen inspired, but different plot.
1. Chapter 1 Prelude to Change

**Chapter One**

Everyone has their thing. That specific detail of their life that defines more than just their personality and their likes and dislikes. It is something that resonates within them, giving a sort of meaning that only they alone can understand. It is something that has always been around, but with the rise of pop culture it has become bountiful as well as instantaneous. What I speak of are stories.

Stories have been something that have been in existence since the dawn of time; influencing and inspiring those that it touches. For some it is charging the Black Gates of Mordor with Members of the Fellowship; or travelling through space and time in a curious blue box; or perhaps sipping tea with stiff upper lips in the company of the Dowager Countess Grantham.

For me, it is sharing the walks of Elizabeth Bennet and experiencing all the changeable emotions that carry her through the book until the very end when she and Mr. Darcy come together in blissful union. All expectations of happiness and love fulfilled.

The only problem with that is it has altered my perception on reality, thus ruining my love life. When men like Mr. Darcy, Mr. Knightley, and Mr. Tilney are lingering in my mind it is hard to not compare them to men of my general acquaintance, especially those who are brave enough to ask me out. Not to say I'm a particular catch, but I have a reputation that precedes me. While I may not be _as_ extreme as Jane Hayes from Austenland nor guilty of having hallucinations of the back of my shower being a doorway leading to the Bennet household, I _am_ known to be a most...enthusiastic fan of the Austen era. Meaning that blokes that do take me to the pub around the corner are not quick to repeat the offer in any way, shape, or form. I don't consider it much of a loss. I have my hopes for men more romantic then to just get me to the nearest ale house and then, well...

Though, I suppose I'm not being fair. There was one who was different from the others. But it was finished with my mistake.

Mum worries though; she's always been one for grandchildren and as I was the only child to grace her all her hopes rest on my reproductive organs. Every now and then, when I visit, she'll bring out my old cot for a 'dusting' as she tells me of the new couples that are filling the flats around hers. I usually keep my thoughts to myself at this moment. At least she's not like Mrs. Bennet. She doesn't arrange blind dates for me or push me to get close to my GP or some of the other things that would be the norm of a modern day Mrs. B. My mum let's me do things in my own time, though she does like to give me little reminders of the ticking clock.

I can't help remind myself of that same ticking clock, but I'm stubborn and have high expectations. What woman doesn't after a generous dollop of Jane Austen. In all fairness, it's that ladies fault.

I reckon I should properly introduce myself seeing as I'm rambling to strangers about the goings on of my personal life. You should at least have a name. It's Sophie Devon, named after my great-aunt on my dad's side. I've never met her, but I'm told that I have similar features to her so I guess inheriting her name is fitting. I'm a 23, almost 24, year old Londoner with a life not unlike thousands of others; not even my obsession of Austen is unique, though when not with like minded people it can sometimes feel like I am the only one who appreciates the ladies writings in this modern age. And since it is rare that I _am_ with like minded people I feel myself clinging to my dreams and imaginings stronger and stronger.

When I'm forced to detach myself from my telly filled of Mr. Darcy glowering at all he sees, I can be found working my days in an office, HR to be exact, and what more can I say on that subject other than - Agh! I complain but it's not all bad. My mate, Jules, works just a few desks down within talking distance and is my polar opposite. She has no qualms with men in general, pubs round the corner, or the ... But you know what they say: opposites attract.

The day was Friday and when I had woken that morning nothing suggested itself to me of a mystical nature. Everything was as it had been everyday before and to my mind it would continue in that fashion.

It was December and the annul office Christmas party was that night. It was a thing of mild excitement. I avoided it, but some around the office have assured me that it has improved since the last time I attended.

"Sophe, you going to the office party tonight?" Jules asked across a few drooping heads.

My computer screen showed me that I shouldn't, that I should prepare myself for a long night and wake up tomorrow with the workload considerably lighter and my weekend freer.

"Are you going?" I looked up. She shrugged and spun lazily in her chair. Our co-workers were in varying states of attention. Slack hands holding up nodding heads and drooping eyes only staying open by the sprightly voice of Jules. Friday's were never fast around here.

"I was thinking of it. Dan will be there." She mentioned the name with something of playfulness in her voice.

"Dan is always at those things. It's not surprising." I said, bringing my eyes back to the lit screen. Jules, however, had caught the scent and was intent on pursuing it.

"He said he'd look out for you. Maybe save you a dance."

I gave her a look which she only laughed at. "Fine. Don't dance with Dan. Break his heart some more."

"Keep your voice down, would you." I whispered, darting my eyes around to make sure that no one was paying too much attention to our conversation. I really wished Jules understood the concept of 'there's a time and a place.' Unfortunately for me, she was yet to make that discovery.

"Please, they're all half dead anyway," she motioned widely with an arm.

"Yes, but it's the other half that you have to watch out for," came the quiet voice of Jonny. He sat in the corner of the wide office space and was one of the few who was still diligently working. He paused his typing fingers to look over at us with a smirk. Jules was highly amused by this and let out a crowing laugh as she spun in a full circle, sitting slouched in her chair. I too, found myself smiling.

* * *

"So, is it a yes or a no?"The glass doors of the building opened for us and we were hit with a cold blast of air. Winter was well on its way and people all around were bundled snugly. I had my own scarf wrapped tight around my neck and my hat was pulled low over my ears. I groaned in answer to her question.

"Oh, come on, Sophe. If it's because I teased you about Dan, I'm sorry. But don't let it stop you coming and having a good time."

I stopped and had to give her an arch look. "An office party? A good time?"

"Hey, for you that would be living it up." She hooked her arm through mine and forced me to keep walking.

"Why the sudden urge to go to this Party? You've never been this keen before."

Jules was capable of many things; running every morning before work, applying make-up flawlessly in under five minutes, fooling co-workers into covering for her while she slips off to treat herself for a longer lunch break. The one thing she was _not_ able to do was lie to me and she knew it.

"Look, I'm worried for you."

I sighed but she went on more strongly. "Ever since you and Dan split you've become more of a recluse."

"I have not." I interrupted. Now it was her turn to give me a look.

"I understand though. You were never easy to please with all your 'Austen Standards,' and then Dan happens and you began acting like a regular human being.

I snorted.

"But its been six months. That's half a year." She implored.

"I am aware of the amount of time that six months elapses," I mumbled.

"So don't you think it's time to start testing the waters again?"

I didn't answer her straight away and after a huffy sigh, she didn't push for a response. We got onto the tube and remained silent, each in our own contemplation. She had probably dropped the argument thinking it hopeless. I, on the other hand, was repeating her words through my mind. Everything she said was true. Dan _had_ been great and I _had_ relinquished (somewhat) my grip-hold on Pride and Prejudice and the implacable gentleman that was Fitzwilliam Darcy.

But then I had screwed it up and let my own obsession cloud my judgement. Trying to change someone, especially when that person doesn't need changing, is always a mistake. A horrible mistake.

Jules and I got off the tube and walked the few yards it was to the flat we shared. The jingle of my keys alerted Jax to our presence and as per usual we walked in to see him siting right in front of the door, swishing his fluffy white tail.

"Hi Jax." I greeted. The dainty cat ran over and arched his back, happy to accept the petting. Jules walked past and dumped her purse on the chair nearest the front door; her clacking pumps then led her to the small kitchen. She and Jax had never seen eye to eye. I had found him sheltering under the flap of a damp cardboard box in the pouring rain looking very forlorn. He had clearly been underfed and had no tags so I had no apprehensions in tucking him under the safety of my raincoat and bringing him back home.

Two years later he's my shadow and sleeps gratefully on the edge of my pillow.

"And how have you been today?" I asked in a baby voice. He nuzzled his head against my hand and let out a loud purr.

"Yes. Let's get you some dinner." I unwrapped my scarf and doffed my hat, adding it to the pile on the chair; my purse was tossed onto the very top of the pile. With Jax trailing me, we joined Jules in the kitchen.

"Ugh. Does he have to walk all over the worktop?" She asked, distastefully eyeing the white fluff ball that had jumped up and was pacing beside the sink.

"Come on, Jax, down." I clapped my hands and motioned for him to jump to the floor. He did as he was told and began twining in an out of my legs.

"You should really teach him not to do that." Jules said, scooting out of the kitchen. "You'll trip over him." A second later the telly was on and I heard the tune to EastEnders fill the flat.

"I won't trip over you, will I?" I smiled at Jax. He only pawed at my leg, entreating me to hurry with his food. I grabbed a can from the cupboard, popped the lid, and served the cat food in Jax's personal bowl.

"I'm going to take a shower." I called out to Jules. She mindlessly waved her hand in acknowledgement.

After a weeks work of the same routine - point A to point B and back to point A - it was nice to just sit a moment with my eyes closed, lying on my bed.

The weekends to me always presented possibilities. My time spent during the week always seemed so formal, so laid out with a lack of possibilities of alterations. My job was a senseless one. It was automatic with a ready made solution to any problem that may rise up. There was no testing my abilities nor a need for my brain to think past the boundaries of the four walls of the office.  
I wanted something different - only I didn't know what it was yet. But it's out there, just like my Mr. Darcy is out there. Patience is all that is required.

I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Jax came up a moment later and joined me, curling himself up in the nook of my shoulder and neck. I stroked his fur idly.

Perhaps I _should_ go to the party. It wouldn't hurt and if Jules was entering the realms of being 'worried' then it would be a step closer to putting her anxieties to rest. And if Dan does come and ask for a dance (though, I'd wager it was only Jules saying that) then I'll deal with it in the mature way that I know I'm capable of. After all, I work in bloody HR. I have ready material in dealing with other humans.

With my mind made up, I discarded my clothes and stepped into the shower. The warm water soothed my chilled skin and once I had lathered my body with soap I stood under the spout letting the streams of water run down my shoulders and back. It was numbingly pleasant to just stand there and feel the hot steam build in the room creating a faux sauna that I hoped would seep to the rest of the flat.

When I had finally finished I could hear Jules rummaging around both our cupboards, no doubt searching for something to wear. "You can wear my blue top if you want." I called as I squirmed into my robe and switched on the hairdryer, blasting the warm air into my face. The sooner I warmed up, the better.

"The one with the sweetheart neck?"

"Yeah."

I ruffled my medium length hair, aiming the warm air at the nape of my neck, sending a jolt of gooseflesh down my arms.

"What do you think?" Jules appeared at the door holding up a pair of slim black trousers and the blue sweetheart neck-lined blouse.

"Nice."

"Oh." She slumped her arms, frowning.

"More than nice," I amended, shouting over the droll of the machine in my hand. "The blue will really bring out your eyes."

Said eyes lit up as she examined her outfit. _I_ examined _her_ with furrowed brows.

"You're really putting an effort into tonight." I said nonchalantly. My hair was becoming relatively dry so I turned the hairdryer off and put it away.

"Well, you know, it's good to make an appearance to show..." she looked up for a second but immediately brought her gaze back down to the clothes as I watched, amused, as she struggled for the word that could possibly explain why she was so eager for an office party.

"...togetherness." She came up with at last.

I turned away, trying my best to hide the grin that was widening fast. "Togetherness." I repeated. From the corner of my eye I saw Jules shift uncomfortably. She was on the verge. Just a second longer.

"It's Henry." She blurt.

Sweet victory.

"Henry Ellis from I.T.?"

"Yeah." She came in and sat on the closed lid of the toilet.

"He's been helping me with my computer, as you know, and I don't know. I hadn't really looked at him before - he's not re-"

"Really your type." I finished for her.

"But he's been very sweet," she continued, "and I was hoping that tonight - "

"Tonight you might have the chance to see what he shaves with tomorrow?" I interrupted again.

"No." She said immediately. Then she cringed a little. "Well, maybe a bit. But I don't want it to be just one night. I -" She hesitated.

"Yes." I stopped my flossing and stared at Jules's reflection in the mirror. She looked up, shrugging her shoulders.

"I want to know him."

I didn't answer at first. I wasn't at a loss of words, but I knew Jules and I knew her temperament. If I gave her a sweet sappy line she'd huff to cover up her moment of vulnerability. Strange ways does the mind work. So I waited for her to follow up.

"That's one of the reasons I wanted you to come tonight."

I tossed the floss into the rubbish bin, slid my tongue smoothly over my clean teeth, and turned to face my uncomfortable friend on the toilet.

"Not to worry, dear one," I playfully patted her head, "I'm coming with you." I then pranced out, leaving her on the throne and went to search for something decent to wear.

* * *

My memory of the last office party was a pathetic one. Half the people were drunk and the other half were on their way there. The dancing had been non-existent unless you counted bodies loosely pressed together moving in a lazy circle, looking more like two forms just trying to keep each other propped up. The food had been passable but the music was the playlist of a fifteen year old hormonal teenager.

That was three years ago, presently, I had to admit that improvements had been made. Their was a tolerable amount of alcohol but not enough to get the entire gathering inebriated. There were actual couples dancing in rhythm to the music, which was, thankfully, pleasant to the ears. The only thing that remained the same was the food. But still everyone had something in their mouths; eating mainly because it was there rather than anything else.

Jules, never a timid one and bolstered by my accompanying her, had succeeded in getting Henry to ask her to dance. Though, he seemed very willing. She winked at me with a flirtatious smile spreading winningly across her face as they passed by me. I rolled my eyes and turned away. Best not to encourage any bad behaviour on her part.

The night was behind all the windows; dark and illuminated by the quantity of streetlights. We were some floors up with the labyrinthine streets of London sprawled out below us. Pedestrians, cars, double-deckers, and all the rest of the multitudes that slunk from their work life and sprang lithely to their care-free party life.

As of yet, I'd seen no hint of Dan. I nearly convinced myself that I wasn't looking for him but by the time the doors leading to the hall opened for the tenth time and my head spun around to see who it was coming in, I knew that, despite my best efforts, I was anticipating him.

My cup was in need of refilling so I slowly took my time to the punch table. There was only one other person there handling the ladle but they were quick with filling up their cup and walking away. I stepped forward and reached for the handle when my hand collided with someone else's.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't see - " I looked up to be met with a grinning Dan. He was the same as ever; great hair, charming smile, big blue eyes and all it did was remind me of how stupid I had been.

"Hi Dan." I attempted calm, therefore it was unwise of me to reach for the ladle again. You would think that I'd be used to seeing him as we work in the same building, but our offices are on different floors so our paths rarely crossed. With neither of us seeking each other out as we used to, we could go a good month before we caught sight of each other.

"Hey Sophe." He gently pulled the ladle from my clumsy grip and poured out the punch into my waiting cup. He then did the same for himself.

"How are you?" He asked, not looking at me.

"I'm good. You?"

"Oh, you know. I'm always fine." He deposited the ladle and took a sip of the warm liquid.

"I see Jules is still making her conquests." He motioned with his free hand towards the pair now with their arms completely wrapped around each other. I couldn't help but laugh, feeling much lighter as I did so.

"Yes, well, she claims her intentions are entirely honourable. I guess we'll just have to take her word for it."

"Ooh, always a dangerous thing to do," he said, setting down his cup and extending his open hand to me. I looked at the it blankly.

"Care to?" He asked. I raised my eyes to his - thinking. He watched the wheels turning just beyond the barrier of flesh and bone, waiting with a slow smile touching just the side of his lips. Steeling myself, I hastily placed my cup beside his and accepted his hand.

He led us to the side of the dancing, no doubt remembering my shyness in the area of 'movin' and shakin' it'. The song currently playing came to an end and was succeeded by a much slower one. I gulped inconspicuously as I felt his hand come round my waist while his other held my right hand in a firm hold. We swayed slightly, moving in an easy circle. I kept my attention on the dancers, too nervous to look up into Dan's face. I knew he had his eyes on me, I could feel it and it just brought back old emotions and feelings that stung with a prevalence that brought a guilty flavour to my mouth.

The hand on my waist tugged me just a tad closer and I put my hands softly on his chest; finally looking up at him.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm just...not ready yet." All my HR training left me to deal with my personal life. Suppose fair's fair.

He dropped his hold on me and nodded once, an accepting grin appeared on his face that wasn't quite a grin, but he tried nevertheless. Step by step I retreated, continuing to apologize.

"I'll see you around." I finished weakly. He let out a good-humoured bark and shook his head.

"You won't. But it was nice to see you tonight, Soph."

I smiled. "You too."

I slipped behind some dancers and went in search of Jules. I found her and Henry sitting closely together at a table in the corner. They were oblivious to the rest of the room and was completely unaware of my presence standing not a foot away.

"Ah-hmm." I dramatically cleared my throat.

"Sophe," Jules tore her attention away from Henry, an apparently difficult task to accomplish.

"I think I'm going to go home." I told her. That gained a larger portion of her attention."

"What? Why?"

"Headache." I lied. "I'll see you later." I saw that she was of two minds; she clearly wanted to get the truth from me, but neither did she want to let Henry slip away.

"Alright, see you later then." She decided, though her eyes told me that she'd be asking later. I nodded, bid the pair goodnight, and then began the trek home.

* * *

Jax was cuddled up snugly in my arms, purring contentedly. I couldn't say that I was as easy in my mind, but that would be remedied soon. Pride Prejudice was loading within the antique chambers of our dated television, a mug of hot cocoa was held comfortably in both my hands, and my favorite red blanket was draped over my knees. The expansive sofa was as comfy as ever.

"Ahh," I sighed, already relaxing as the first notes of the 1995 theme of the mini-series played out of the telly. Time past and I was on the third episode, wishing that I could enter that world and escape from all things modern; jobs, relationships, food, what have you, when my bladder made itself known. Jax was none to pleased at having to depart from his warm spot, but he didn't have much say in the matter.

I slid down the cramped hall in my socks and consequently nearly lost my balance. With my duty done, I washed up and was just walking back into the sitting room when I unexpectedly tripped over something and came tumbling to the floor. My head painfully grazed the side of the wall and I saw stars momentarily. When my vision cleared I looked to see what it was that had tripped me.

"Jax!" I exclaimed. An ironic laugh escaped my lips as I thought back to Jules's earlier comment just this day.

"Our flatmate may have some hidden powers Jax. Unless it's only that you _can_ understand us and thought it would be a good idea to make her right."

I scooped him up, bringing ourselves back to the sofa. My head spun suddenly, though, and I had to shut my eyes, flopping down on the cushions. Jax squirmed out of my arms and went somewhere behind me. I dropped my head into my hands and grumbled out Jax's name in a very accusatory tone. My only response was a loud purr.

"Well this won't do." I opened my eyes and cautiously made my way to the kitchen in search of paracetamol. Finding my target, I turned the cold tap on and filled a glass to the brim. Popping the tablet into my mouth, I had the water chase it down.

The suspect was lounging luxuriously on my red blanket, grooming himself with gusto, utterly unaware of my glaring eyes. I turned the telly off, yanked the blanket from under him and stumbled to my room, catching the shocked growl. I smirked.

My bed welcomed me and my pillow enveloped my spinning head in soft comfort. The edge of my mattress dipped slightly, announcing the disgruntled presence of Jax. Though a bit miffed, he still curled himself up by my head.

"Night, night Jax." I murmured.

Sleep claimed me swiftly, yet my dreams were turbulent with shifting images of Jules, Dan, Henry, Pride Prejudice, Mr. Darcy. Everything that had been swirling in my subconscious for the past twenty-four hours. The strangest came when I appeared to be in a dark, circular tunnel moving fast. I could see nothing distinguishable to prove this, although there was a whip-like wind rushing into and past my face. The speed almost became overwhelming and I felt myself starting to waken.

But suddenly there was a light coming from the other end of the tunnel. I watched as it seemed that this light and myself would collide, though I was surprisingly calm about it. The light grew closer and from its glow I saw a figure flying towards me. It was a young woman, probably near to my own age, with rich brown hair and shining eyes. I didn't notice much else as she and I were about to crash. We both saw the other and looks of astonishment passed our features before all went black and my sleep continued undisturbed.

* * *

The sun streamed into my room, sprawling across my bed and shining strongly onto my closed eyelids. I lifted my arm to cover my face and rolled on my side reaching for Jax.

"Jax?" I moved my hand around with my eyes still shut. When I couldn't feel him, I opened my eyes and looked around.

I was struck with the foreign room I was currently lying in. The furniture were all antiques, though to my untrained eyes, the pieces were in wonderful condition. There was a wash stand in the corner and an ewer sitting beside it. A small writing desk was positioned near a display of windows and the bed that I lay blinking in was a four poster with sheets and covers that were definitely not mine.

I blinked. Then blinked again. I rubbed my eyes and another wave of shock hit me. Instead of the loose sweatshirt and baggy trousers I wore to bed, I was presently dressed in a nightgown with flared cuffs.

"What?!" I breathed.

There was no sign of my red blanket nor Jax, but one thing at a time. Gingerly, I uncovered my legs and swung them out of the bed. Crumpled slippers lay waiting to be worn so I complied and stood shakily on my feet. My head felt better in regards to the fall last night, but with my new surroundings an all new sort of dizziness was coming over me.

 _'Maybe I'm still dreaming.'_ I thought. I pinched myself. "Ow!" Not dreaming then.

I rubbed the sore skin on my arm as I warily walked over to the writing desk. There were a couple of quills, a spare nib and an ink stand, but no papers. Pulling open the drawers I found a trove of letters. Before I scanned any of them my attention was caught by the view provided outside the window.

The city was gone. Buildings, lights, noise - vanished and replaced with the quiet calm of the country.

"What the -?" My voice scratched but I ignored it. Before allowing myself to freak out fully I picked up a letter on the very top. It was addressed to a _Dear aunt_ but it was the signature at the bottom that numbed my fingers and had me seriously questioning my sanity.

 _Your loving niece_

 _~Elizabeth Bennet_

"Elizabeth Bennet?" I whispered. The letter fell from my hand with a quiet shuffle as I spun around to observe the room anew. Quaint, simple, elegant, things generally acquainted with the heroine. Atop the wash stand there was a mirror and I tripped over to it.

I thought I might scream. Not only was the city gone - _I_ was gone. This face that stared at me in the reflection was not my own. The brown hair, the big brown eyes belonged to somebody else. The curving lips and pert nose were the expressions of another person entirely.

"What?!"

Hands that were not mine obeyed my thoughts and brought the limbs up to clasp the face of the stranger's, pulling it in every direction.

"What the hell is happening?" I said a tad louder. The hands grasped the throat and the big brown eyes widened. It wasn't even my voice!

I stumbled back until the back of my knees met the curve of the bed and I sat down, or, should I say the body sat down.

I was scared. I was scared where I was. I was scared to leave the room. I didn't know what may be out there, so I deliberated. I thought of last night and a torrent of memories flooded back of all the strange dreams I had had. That tunnel with that girl. It was her! That was Elizabeth Bennet?!

"That means," I said aloud, marveling at the strange tone that emitted from me, "I'm in Elizabeth Bennet's body!"

Once spoken my mind reeled and I had no choice but to fall back and pass out.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello again. Haven't been here for a year, but I'm back and as you can see having fun with a Pride Prejudice/Lost in Austen theme. The only way that it will be like Lost in Austen is the modern girl falling into her favorite book and interacting with the characters. Other than that, my plot is different than the mini-series. So I hope you enjoy. Next chapter we'll meet the Bennet Family and poor confused Sophie Devon will not be up to Mrs. Bennet's standards for the gentleman that has come to Netherfield.

You can leave a reply if you like and while you're at it: what would you do if you suddenly found yourself in Pride Prejudice?

'Till next time.


	2. Chapter 2 Meeting the Family

**Chapter Two**

"Lizzy," there was a knock at the door, rousing me from the faint I had fallen into. With a groggy head - that wasn't even mine - I struggled to collect myself into a sitting position and grab hold of one of the posts of the bed. The room spun violently around me, veering dangerously off into becoming perpendicular with the ground beneath. Gasping passed full lips that were unfamiliar, I raised a shaky hand to feel their roundness with the pads of fingers that were longer and more slender than mine.

The white door, that obscured whoever it was that had drummed their fingers on its surface, opened a fraction and an eye peered through the gap. Recognizing that I, or Lizzy, was awake, the eye was followed by a most beautiful woman. Figure and face were both equally pleasing to look at and I knew instantly that I was in the presence of Jane Bennet. Her features were remarkable in a sense of timelessness, drawing in the observer to study the living canvas and discover all the hidden secrets of the painting.

"I see you are awake." Her voice was fitting to her physique; soft, melodious, and calming. A very soothing balm to my unsteady state of mind.

"Mamma has been asking for you. I told her that you were to be left this morning as you had retired very late last night." She crossed the room with the natural grace of one fully at ease with her surroundings and for a moment I envied her. My mind could only process that I had fallen into Pride & Prejudice; it could not breach the question of _how_ such a thing occurred, nor how was it that I might return.

Jane was busying herself with pouring the water out of the ewer and into the basin that rested on the wash stand that was meant to be my means of washing. I stared in fascination, becoming intrigued by the process, so much so, that I silently slid off the bed and hovered near the eldest Bennet girl. A slight sway rooted me momentarily, blurring my vision and threatening to send me back into a faint.

"Lizzy, are you unwell?" Her sweet hands replaced their grip of the ewer with my chilled arms.

"I -" the husky voice scratched against my throat and I had to swallow. "I do feel..." What _do_ I feel? I was still not certain that this was not a dream, despite the pinch. Perhaps it was an elaborate scheme concocted by Jules to play into my whims, but I couldn't see her taking the trouble to this extent. If I had had an accident when returning from the office party that I don't recall I might be in a coma having hallucinations. But no, I _had_ made it home. I remember Jax tripped me and I had hit my head. So an accident of a sorts, though doubtful that that had been enough to send me into a comatose.

Discarding all those theories, the only possibility that remained was that I, was in fact, not only back in time, but living my favorite book!

"I do feel a bit strange," I nodded cautiously. Out of giddy excitement, I reached for her steady hand and clung to it. The skin was soft and welcoming, though, at first I wasn't sure if it was hers or Lizzy's. Maybe it was the combination of the two.

"Shall I fetch mamma's smelling salts?" Jane offered, equally grasping onto my hand. I noticed that there was a glint of worry behind the brilliant eyes and I realized that her younger sister was constitutionally much more robust than what I was currently displaying.

"No, I am well. Only...unused to rising at this hour." I struggled through the words, attempting to match my language to the time. Though I couldn't make promises that I would be able to keep it up. Relinquishing my hand from hers, I took a step back and righted myself. At that moment a stomach, that was most probably not my own, let out a demanding growl that reached both our ears.

"Er...is there any breakfast left?"

Jane smiled and lead my hands to the water-filled basin. "The family will be sitting down shortly. I thought you would not want to miss your morning sustenance."

"You thought correctly."

There was what I assumed soap on the side, however the texture was altogether much more course and rough to anything I was accustomed to. But I was not complaining. I gathered the suds, lathering it between my fingers and relishing in the extraordinarily, mysterious, circumstances that had brought me here. The mirror before me was filled with a beautiful face; red lips that I had felt were slightly chapped, thus making them the colour that they were; expressive eyes that I knew would be the ones to gain Mr. Darcy's attention, and eventual love; a nose, that I had never given much thought to, lay almost impertinently pert and knowing in the centre of her curious face. The reflection almost seemed to be asking _me_ a question to which I could only answer with a one-shouldered shrug.

I paused in my ministrations of the pursuit of cleanliness to consider what _my_ body was doing. Was Elizabeth Bennet waking now, as I just had, in a foreign bedroom with no clue of what had happened. Was she marveling at the modern body she inhabited or perhaps she was yet to open her eyes and meet the furry sleeping companion that occupied the upper corner of her pillow. I hope she isn't allergic to cats. Though, she'd be in my body, therefore she should manage on that count.

Another thought struck me.

"Jane?" The eldest Bennet was rifling through the small wardrobe which oddly reminded me of Jules the previous night, searching for clothes to wear to the party.

"Yes, Lizzy?"

"Am I allergic to cats?" I reached for the towel that was hung on the side of the stand and dried my hands. Jane emerged from the finely shaped wardrobe with a selection of dresses tucked in her arms and a thoroughly uncomprehending mien.

"Allergic?" She repeated.

"Oh, uh. I believe I muddled the word. It's of no matter." I retracted, mentally slapping my forehead to the palm of my hand. Jane accepted what I said, though there was a lingering look of watchfulness that penetrated deeper than I thought her capable of. For all her descriptions of shyness and reserved manner, she was acutely tuned to her sisters, most of all Elizabeth.

"You do not need to worry, Jane. I am only a little tired. Maybe you would not mind helping me." I attempted to assure her. She readily consented and I saw immediately the motherly nature Jane Austen had captured in this character. This led to another series of questions. How was I in a book? If I had fallen through the stones of craigh na dun and found my self in some historical past, that would at least be more plausible. Though, I suppose Outlander is fiction in itself, however much it dealt with past events. But, I'm straying from the point. How did I end up in a book? How is that even possible?

 _'Who cares?'_ A growing voice in the back of my mind said. _'You're here. In Pride & Prejudice. Don't spoil it by asking unanswerable questions. Enjoy it.'_

A sharp tug brought me out of my musings as the corset was being laced closed.

"Oh, bloody hell."

"Did you say something?" The tightening mercifully stopped with the inquiry. I took a breath and shook my head, preparing for the torture that I knew was not finished. I had only been half aware of the nightgown slipping off my shoulders and the bare skin that revealed itself to the room. Under normal circumstances I would have lunged for the nearest covering and wrapped it securely around my exposed self. But I was not in my own skin and felt strangely liberated at being vicariously naked. Jane had not been awkward at all and swiftly the chemise had been slipped over my head and I had easily fitted into it. With the corset, however, that particular garment garnered my entire attention.

The petticoat came next. It was hooked at the back and settled solidly against my bum, anchoring me further to these clothes. It was made of sturdy material - I guessed cotton - and was very pretty to look at. Jane produced only three more items to be adorned on my person; stockings, they were a cream white that looked to be silk; the actual dress, the only thing anybody would even see; and slippers to be worn about the house. They were made of a stronger material then the ones I currently wore, but I didn't know what of.

Fully dressed, I appraised my self in the mirror. I could not see under the generous bosom that sat jauntily on my chest (you lucky gal, Elizabeth) but what I saw was enough to extract a toothy smile from me. Jane waited by the door, a grin of her own gracing her features. I suddenly decided on something.

"You notice that there is something...different with me." I stated.

"I do. Though, I cannot decide what it is. It was very peculiar for you to wish me to aid you in your dressing and not Hannah."

"Yes, I suppose it was." I chuckled. The rich laugh filled the space pleasantly and brought a charmed sound to my ears. "I cannot explain what it is - I do not know how - though, I am fine for all that. I only desire you not to be too alarmed if I am...altered."

"But why should you be altered, Lizzy?" Jane stepped forward and took my hand. I searched her gaze, testing the limits I could go in telling her the truth. She would believe Lizzy in most things, I believed.

But not this.

I patted her hand and cleared my contemplative expression. "Jane, do you never feel that there are two sides to yourself?"

"I fear I do not follow."

"Do you not have a voice in your head that, at times, thinks differently then how you may act?"

Her head shook slightly, leaving her styled hair undisturbed. My own hair was pinned quickly (by Jane's hand) in a fashion I thought suited Elizabeth's face. "I can't say that I have."

"No," I smiled. "You wouldn't, would you." Apparently something in the words or tone reminded her of the Elizabeth she was familiar with, for her eyes brightened as she lead me out of the room.

* * *

The Bennet household was rather impressive. In the book, Mrs. Bennet was always prattling on about the portending death of her husband and how herself and the girls would have barely a thing to live on if the daughters did not find husbands. But if I were to compare Longbourn to any number of homes or flats (though, the latter would hardly be fair) from my time it would be no question as to which was the one I would want to move into.

Strings of notes were chiming from a piano, reaching up the stairs and greeting Jane and I as we descended.

"Mary will be glad of the delay." I assumed.

"Yes, but mamma will not be." She gently warned.

"Mary, come away from there!" Came the shrill voice of the only woman who could possibly be the matriarch of the household. Jane and I caught the others eyes as we reached the last step, pausing for a moment before entering the dining area.

There they sat - the Bennets. All in their domestic splendour, eating their breakfast. At the head of the table was Mr. Bennet. A fork in hand, absently bringing food to his open mouth as his gaze absorbed the morning paper leaning against his plate. To his immediate right and left were vacant seats to be filled by Jane and myself. Past that, there were, as Mr. Bennet would say, three of the silliest girls in all of England. Kitty and Lydia were carrying the conversation, or rather, Lydia was speaking and Kitty made a sound of agreement or acknowledgment when her sister was forced to pause for breath, or exclaim, "Lord, I'm so fat!"

Mary sat beside Kitty and was just as absorbed as her father, though there were no reading materials before her. Her attention were on her fingers, hidden from view of her mother by her plate of food that she only pecked at. She was drumming the appendages rhythmically against the white cloth covering the table until her mother made notice of it.

"What is that thumping?"

Mary abandoned her activity at once.

"Thumping, my dear. What thumping?"

" _Oh_ , never you mind, Mr. Bennet. If it was the thumping of Mr. Bingley's hand on the door knocker it would be nothing to you. No, for certain, nothing for our girls either as they claim no acquaintance with the gentleman. And why should that gentleman come here when _you_ have not visited him?" Mrs. Bennet lamented. At the foot of the table sat the iron maiden of the time; frilly cap covering curled hair, an unnecessary shawl guarding her against a nonexistent chill, and a gown of overwhelming proportions acting as her armour, deflecting any displeasing notions that may give unrest to her poor nerves. At the very centre of this woman warrior were her narrowed eyes staring intently at her indifferent husband.

Jane and I slipped into our respective seats as silently as possible, aiming to be excluded from the lady's wrathful glare. We were not successful.

"And may I ask why you were so late, Miss Lizzy?" The sharp tongue turned on me. Speaking correctly in front of Jane was one matter, there was no pressure to achieve the exact wording they used. Mrs. Bennet, however, demanded the very highest and I was loath to displease her.

"I overslept, ma'am," I remembered Elizabeth, in the book, once calling her mother that and thought it fitting. She sniffed and turned her pinched nose away from me and redirected it back towards her husband. When nothing more was forthcoming from him, she turned to her food and ate in silence.

Lydia casually interposed herself, brightening her mother's mood somewhat by talks of visiting their aunt Phillips in Meryton.

At present, no one required me to speak, not even Mr. Bennet whom I had imagined might have greeted me in some form. He was reading his paper as studiously as ever, though I though I detected a smile forming on his face. It did not quite touch his lips but his eyes held a humour that resembled the action.

Abstractedly, I ate, filling my stomach with the food it craved and satisfying the rumbling beast. My main attention was more closely involved in myself. The body I inhabited moved naturally - muscle memory, I supposed - though it was a bit eerie in the fact that I knew the precise distance of the salt without having to give it much thought. The arm had, suddenly, shot out to reach for the dainty container that held the condiment. My mind was still my own, that much I knew; I was still Sophie Devon. Yet I found myself putting together words and sentences of an almost archaic nature. It could be the influence of the time and hearing it spoken aloud, and I have never been wholly unfamiliar with the older language that filled the majority of the books I read, but it was still an odd realization.

I was swallowing a piece of sausage when Mr. Bennet finally looked away from his paper to first glance at his wife (who no longer watched him) and then to bring his eyes to rest on me.

"A very big appetite, Lizzy. Is it occasioned by your distress at not meeting Mr. Bingley, or delight that you have escaped an acquaintance you had much rather not make."

An intake of breath was heard from the foot of the table.

"Neither, sir," I replied with maybe a tad more enthusiasm than the occasion called for. "I eat only for the comfort of myself, not my whims."

"A very sound practice." He returned. I felt that he was not quite finished, and so waited for what I was sure to come.

In the corner, on a spare chair, was a bonnet that I did not know who the owner was. Mr. Bennet's roving eyes flicked to it for a second. "I hope Mr. Bingley will like it Lizzy." My bonnet then. And not only was that my bonnet, but I recognized what Mr. Bennet had just said. I had figured that my arrival coincided with the beginning of the story since Jane lived at home still, as did all the Bennet girls. It was confirmed by Mrs. Bennet's mention of Bingley. Now, however, I was witnessing actual quotes from the actual book.

"We are not in a way to know _what_ Mr. Bingley likes since we are not to visit." The foot of the table spoke resentfully.

"But you forget, mama," I said, thanking the heavens that I had not only watched this exchange last night on my telly, but had finished the book for the hundredth time not a week ago. "That we shall meet him at the assemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him."

"I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion of her."

"No more have I, and I am glad to find that you do not depend on her serving you." Mr. Bennet interjected. At this point, his wife clearly wished to ignore the fact that he had spoken so began scolding Kitty.

"Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven's sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces."

"Kitty has no discretion in her coughs," Mr. Bennet said; "she times them ill."

"I do not cough for my own amusement." The young girl looked fretfully between her mother and father, attempting to contain another cough that was visibly trying to escape her throat.

"When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?"

I stammered. _'Oh, what is it? What does she say?'_

"Tomorrow fortnight." I felt extremely accomplished.

"Aye, so it is," cried _mamma_. I giggled to myself. "And Mrs. Long does not come back till the day before; so, it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for she will not know him herself."

"Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce Mr. Bingley to _her."_

"Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him myself; how can you be so teasing?" She accused. Her husband took no notice of her tone; at least he showed no signs of it.

"I honour your circumspection. A fortnight's acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight. But if _we_ do not venture, somebody else will; and after all, Mrs. Long and her nieces must stand their chance; and therefore, as she will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will take it on myself."

I noticed the other girls all staring at their father, so I did likewise with an increasingly difficult task of keeping my grin hidden. From the foot of the table, I heard, "nonsense, nonsense!"

"What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation? Do you consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you _there_. What say you, Mary?" He turned abruptly to his third child. "For you are a young lady of deep reflection I know, and read great books, and make extracts."

Mary, I knew, who sat directly to my right, struggled to form a sentence that would display her sensibilities; but as it was in the book, it was so here. She could not.

"While Mary is adjusting her ideas," he continued, "let us return to Mr. Bingley."

"I am sick of Mr. Bingley," cried Mrs. Bennet, waving her arms frantically at her sides in agitation.

"I am sorry to hear _that;_ but why did not you tell me so before? If I had known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on him. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now."

There was a beat and instinctively, I raised my fingers to cover my ears.

" _Oh, Mr. Bennet!_ "

"Papa, why should you have not told us?" Lydia pouted.

"I have spoken of it to you now."

"How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew I should persuade you at last. I was sure you loved your girls too well to neglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! And it is such a good joke, too, that you should have gone this morning, and never said a word about it till now."

"Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you choose," Mr. Bennet said as he dropped his napkin onto his plate and left the room, looking slightly fatigued by the over exuberant excitement of his wife.

"What an excellent father you have, girls," Mrs. Bennet said once the door was shut. "I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness; or me either, for that matter. At our time of life, it is not so pleasant I can tell you, to be making new acquaintance every day; but for your sakes, we would do anything. Lydia, my love, though you _are_ the youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next ball."

"Oh!" The youngest girl puffed up her chest with a toss of her head as she said stoutly, "I am not afraid; for though I _am_ the youngest, I'm the tallest."

I hid a smirk. Lord knows Lydia is not afraid of meeting new men. I stilled my fork, letting it drop back to the table.

I couldn't deny that my current circumstance rung similarly to those of Amanda Price from Lost in Austen, though I am not an added person to the story. I was transplanted right into Elizabeth Bennet; but was the purpose the same. Nothing as of yet had gone differently (Lord, I hope not. Right now would only be the third chapter) but perhaps I was put here to warn Lydia about Wickham, though no one could warn Lydia and expect her to listen. I would have to be discreet and do my best to keep them separated.

 _'But,'_ whispered another part of my brain, _'this is the story. What if Lydia is_ meant _to go with Wickham. After all, that event is one of the main things that pulls the star-crossed lovers together.'_

Well, I didn't have to decide anything right now. And whose to say that I'll even be here that long? It might not even concern me.

With that relatively settled, I turned my attention back to the speculation of when Mr. Bingley might return the visit and how soon the Bennet's should invite the gentleman to dinner.

* * *

Days passed and I found myself molding into the country life of the Regency Era. I woke, I dressed, I went out and searched for the different paths that I knew Elizabeth Bennet must have trekked, I breakfasted with the family; steadily growing more comfortable with my speech and more familiar with each of the Bennets. With no surprise to myself, Jane was the one I became closest to. Despite the sometimes curious glances she sent my way, there was an ease between us that I found comforting as a surprising homesickness visited me at night when my thoughts would calm and begin to analyze everything.

The first few days I was full to the brim of giddy excitement and elation. With the passing of time, however, I began wondering if this was it. Was I stuck here? Was Elizabeth stuck there? How was she faring and was she acclimatizing herself to the modern era? _I_ at least knew what I was doing, but _she_ was thrown into a world she probably thought impossible.

Most nights I worried if anyone was feeding Jax. Jules didn't have it in her mind to feed him as he was really my cat, but I hope that if she saw Elizabeth not feeding him that she would do it herself.

Alas, with all my night-thoughts of home they were not strong enough to induce me in wishing to return - at least not yet. I still had Mr. Darcy to meet.

It happened that Mr. Bingley, not his friend, would be the first to be observed. It was a minor detail in the book that occurred just before the ball that I had nearly forgotten of his visiting. But he did indeed come to talk with Mr. Bennet, though was not permitted in being introduced to the women of the house.

"What cruel fate!" Lydia had cried, setting down her hat she'd been trimming. In the past quarter of an hour, she had adjusted herself between the two attitudes of working diligently with muttering lips; to then discarding the work altogether and disturbing the peace of the room by loudly bemoaning the missed opportunity of the gentleman's acquaintance.

I had been keeping my head down and my work out of sight. Sewing, trimming, or needlework of any kind were sure to be my ruin. I had neither the patience, concentration, nor the skill in the finer arts attributed to the ladies. I sat silently in my small corner, listening to Lydia only.

"I know, my dear! How vexed I was to find that Mr. Bingley had called but was in with your father; and not to be introduced. A very harsh thing I say, a very harsh thing." Mrs. Bennet was not occupied with any articles of cloth, save for her handkerchief that was clutched desperately by her white knuckles.

"Mamma, we shall meet Mr. Bingley at the ball," Jane soothed, "a much more appropriate place for introductions."

"To be sure," the woman warrior rose from her chair and began pacing the room with great agitation. I slunk more securely in my corner lest she see my disgraceful work. "Half the county will have the honour of the _more_ appropriate introduction. But what of you, girls? Had your father not thought of that?" She huffed. "No, instead he entertains Mr. Bingley himself, talking of heaven knows what, while my poor nerves suffer at the wooden barrier separating my girls from future happiness."

Almost like a dog, Lydia and Kitty, perked up and cast doleful glances down the hall. Unconsciously, I must have emitted a small snort or giggle of mirth, for the next second my attempts of darning were snatched from me and exposed to the room for ridicule.

"For heaven's sake, what have you been doing to it?" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. I tried to reach for it but she turned and walked to the window for better light. I quickly sprang to my feet and followed her, though I didn't dare take it back. Instead I waited with my toes curling under my feet.

"Elizabeth, what is this? What do you mean by it?" Her questions were not designed to be answered, so I held my tongue. "What if Mr. Bingley had entered and desired to gaze upon your work; your chances of a marriage proposal would have lessened considerably."

"But mamma, he has not come to us and should he ever look at my work I will make sure that it is top notch." I could thing to only say that. Top notch just sort of slipped out.

She pursed her lips, deciding on whether to punish me further or let it lie. Her mind was made, not by herself, but by Lydia, who had ignored my poor darning but had been watching for Mr. Bingley out the window.

"There he is!" She exclaimed pulling everyone to the window she stood at.

Mr. Bingley was a tall person. We could not see his face, but his coat was a brilliant blue and he mounted a black horse with the ease of a natural. I looked over at Jane and nudged her.

"I believe his height would suit you."

"Please, Lizzy." She replied, dropping her eyes modestly. A shy smile ghosted her lips, however.

* * *

Charlotte Lucas was the first character I met outside of the family. Her slightly older age presented itself in the air of an almost maternal quality. But, while Jane possessed similar traits, Charlotte was much more dowdy in her exhibition of it. I hate to say it as such, but it was my first impression. I liked her nonetheless, and besides Jane she was the one I most looked forward to seeing each morning.

Her mother, Lady Lucas, had come with some of her children, including Charlotte, to gossip with Mrs. Bennet of the new neighbor taking residence of Netherfield Hall. Much of the discussion was on the topic of how many gentleman and ladies Mr. Bingley was to bring back with him from town. Their had been a clamour at the number of twelve ladies, but I only smiled and leaned over to whisper to Charlotte.

"I am thinking that there will only be _two_ ladies at the time of the ball."

"How can you be sure?" She asked amused. I daintily shrugged a shoulder.

"Perhaps by the way he carried himself. It suggested that he prefers intimacy rather than..." I hesitated a moment, trying to think of a word that sounded right. "...a large party." I ended lamely.

"You could not have gathered that from how he sat his horse." Charlotte returned.

"I will not argue with you, but I am very positive that come time, we will see Mr. Bingley with only two ladies."

"Two ladies?" I heard Lydia repeat, her expounding voice capturing the attention of the room. "Have you heard differently from the rumours, then?" She asked excitedly. All eyes were suddenly trained on me and if I had the chance of going back in time once more, for only a few minutes, I would have kept my bragging mouth quiet.

"Lizzy has made the premature assumption that Mr. Bingley will be bringing only two ladies of his acquaintance to the ball. She has no basis for this thought other than the way the gentleman mounts his horse." Charlotte teased.

"Indeed," I hastily agreed, "by no means listen to me. I am most probably wrong."

"Though, that you had been right," Lydia huffed as she slouched in her chair. Her mother patted her arm in sympathy.

"It is an unfortunate number, my dear. Very unfortunate."

I let the visit pass with no further fortune-telling on my part.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello fanfiction. I hope you enjoyed the chapter with the Bennets. Next time will be Mr. Darcy!

Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome and while you're at it you can answer me this: who do you think you would get on most with in Pride & Prejudice?

I would also like to make quick mention of a campaign my aunt has started for her five year-old dog who is going blind. She has started a page on GoFundMe, called Help Us Save Isaak From Going Blind. If that's typed into the search bar of the website Isaak's campaign will come up (I would put the link, but fanfiction doesn't allow it). His surgery is time sensitive and requires a specialist. If donations are not possible then sharing him would be very much appreciated. He is such a sweet boy that deserves to see for the rest of his long life. Thank you.


	3. Chapter 3 Occurrences Unexpected

**Chapter Three: Occurrences Unexpected**

If I had to describe the preparations that took a vice like grip over Longbourn it would exhaust me all over again and send me into dread to think of ever having to repeat those actions. My exasperation mainly came from the corset that Hannah saw fit to close to its most extreme and leave me in constant want of air. To think of adding more layers of clothing atop had me glaring at all who approached me with entreaties that it was absolutely necessary that I wear something over my undergarments.

"For what reason? I'm covered aren't I? I'll suffocate if you try to put another thing on me."

"You do not need me to answer your question," Jane said, holding up the evening gown I was meant to be wearing to attend the assembly room in Meryton. "I believe you mean to goad me, Lizzy, but I shall not fall prey to your teasing." She smoothly set the frock on my bed (Elizabeth's bed; there was still confusion in my head on how to address things) and walked out of the room, her own muslin gown flowing with ethereal beauty about her legs and ankles.

I eyed the gown with misgivings.

"If we're to share this evening together let's get one thing straight," I lifted the delicate dress by the quarter length sleeves and held it up in front of my face. "I am not afraid of tearing you to pieces should I need air, so don't think you've won, alright."

Taking in as much of a gulp of air as possible, I squirmed into the gown, relieved slightly at the lightness of the material.

"Whoo," I breathed, "let's see then." The mirror dutifully reflected the figure before it, showing a beautiful young woman with a quirk of inquisitiveness that made the features all the more intriguing.

"Barely tolerable. Ha! Who were you fooling, Darcy?" I mildly said to myself. There were a few buttons on the back that I could not reach without impaling my spleen with the boning of the corset, so when I heard footsteps traipsing past my door I stuck my head out into the hall.

"Lydia, would you mind helping me with this?" She was nearly ready herself, or she would be if she did not continue to change her mind on what she would wear. The dress she currently wore was her third and no doubt not her last.

"You look nice Lizzy." She complimented. Her fingers worked quickly, plucking the tiny buttons through and closing the dress.

"Thank you. And you," I turned and held her shoulders to keep her a moment longer; "look very pretty. I do not think you need to raid your cupboard any more."

"Do you really think so?" She stepped back and scooped a fist of material in either hand and pulled the dress away from her body, twirling slightly from side to side. "Kitty said it looked horrid, but I thought it was rather nice."

"Compared to the first two I would recommend this be the one you go out in tonight."

She stepped in front of the mirror and smiled at herself. "No matter which I decide I will look fine in any, but I think I will listen to your words and wear this one. It suits my frame."

"Indeed it does." My remark was accompanied by a minor roll of the eyes as I ushered her out of the room.

"Oh, girls, how nice you look." Mrs. Bennet stopped suddenly. She had been crossing the expanse of the hall with her wide eyes set on Jane's closed bedroom door. Most probably she had it in mind to see her eldest daughter's progress and to judge if the result would do; rich single men must be snared after all. She, herself was in a state of disarray; half her hair was pinned up in neat order, though the other half could not claim such tidiness. Much of the stripped cloth she wore in twisted knots were scattered about her head that would no doubt produce lovely curls once released from their bonds, but at present she looked more like a comic version of a regency Cruella De vil with the two different styles splitting her head. The dress she wore was rather exuberant for her position and with her static energy of half muttered sentences and disjointed utterances she was likely to overwhelm the entire gathering that would be the Meryton Ball.

"Lydia, might you consider wearing your white frock?" Mrs. Bennet suggested as she took in her youngest's appearance. "It does so compliment your complexion."

"She has already changed three times," I exasperated, "if she does so once more her entire skin may just fall off with the dress."

I was met with blank stares.

"Well, I dare say there is no need for vulgarity but I shall take you at your word that Lydia would do best if she remained in her current attire."

I nodded my head and then ducked back into the room. A second later there was a repetitious knocking a few doors down and the voice of Jane answering it. I shut my eyes and smiled. In just over an hours time Jane will meet Mr. Bingley and I - I will meet the hero who has stolen a good many hearts from a good many time periods. Trying to picture him only brought up images of Colin Firth or Matthew Macfadyen which was nothing to go by as no one so far resembled their modern counterparts. I would have to just wait and see.

Picking up my gloves that lay on the dresser, I mindlessly put them on as I exited the room and descended the stairs. I kept a weather eye out for Mrs. Bennet, but she was busy with Jane; all the others were in their respective rooms. The person I sought was one who would not be attending the festivities tonight.

"Come." Mr. Bennet's hearty voice answered the knock I had rapped on his study door. The hinges squeaked slightly as I entered and the floor was not all that silent either. Though it was not yet an old house, it showed signs of wear.

"Good evening, father."

"Good evening, Lizzy." He held a book in one hand while the other reached for a glass of sherry on a side table; never breaking contact with the pages before him, he closed his fingers around the delicate glass. I took a seat on an uncomfortable sofa that was set in a rather dark corner of the study; its function to pose only for politeness and not to really encourage any one to sit on it. There was a peaceful silence between us as I watched him read; the muffled clamours of upstairs thankfully receding from both my mind and my hearing.

"How do you do, Lizzy?"

"Me, sir?" I questioned.

"You, miss." Marking his place, he set his book down and brought his eyes to mine. "You are the only daughter I have christened Elizabeth, and currently you are the only other to share my study with me, though you do so quietly. Do you mean to observe my methods of evading the raptures of your mother?"

"No, sir," I laughed, "I do no such thing. I - "

"Yes?"

My eyes flashed him a guilty look. "I, too, am trying to evade Mrs -, er, mamma's enthusiasm."

"Ah." He raised his glass to me and took a sip, sloshing the liquid in his mouth before swallowing it. "I am told that there will be twelve ladies of Mr. Bingley's party. However, I know your mother is up to the task of wading through their numbers to make you and your sisters the sole of the gentleman's gaze."

"There is little worry over that then." There was a debate in my mind on whether I should tell him the true number of ladies attending but then I thought better of it as my boasting with Charlotte had led to some embarrassment. He'll find out everything once we return anyway.

"You are sure to have your dance card full tonight, with or without the aid of your mother." He said kindly, nodding at my appearance. Here I could not resist saying, "that may be so, but I'm sure to at least one I will be barely tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt."

Before Mr. Bennet could respond to what I'm sure he assumed an odd statement, I heard the shrill voice of 'mamma' calling me to hurry from wherever I saw fit to hide and ruin the chances of my sisters by making them too late to meet Mr. Bingley.

"Goodnight father." I bent and naturally kissed him on the temple, feeling a small jolt strike within me as I did so. Ignoring it, I rushed out of the study and hurried out of the house to find the others stepping into the carriage.

* * *

Well, it was certainly a ball even though it was a country ball, it seemed grand - and me a Londoner. The band was seated at the front of the hall, playing their instruments in toe-tapping unison bringing an itch to my feet that I knew I would not be able to scratch. The crush of people astounded me slightly. I'd been expecting something a little more quaint, but most probably the mothers of the county shared Mrs. Bennet's desire of advancing their daughters. For this reason, there was an unequal ratio of women to men, forcing much of the former group to sit out during some of the dances.

For my part, I did not mind sitting on the side and watching all the happenings of an assembly in 1813. The dances were fascinating to watch as they were longer and much more intricate then they were represented on screen. The footwork alone had me wondering why none of the ladies were tripping on their hems or how they were even able to jump and jig when I knew their corsets must be as tight as mine.

Kitty and Lydia were among the dancers, flirting and smiling throughout every reel. Jane was more sedate in her manners, but she too stood up with a partner as often as the younger girls. That left only Mary and myself to sit on the side - one of us glad to be left alone, the other wishing she knew the steps. Guess which one was me. There had been a fair number of gents inquiring to stand up with me, but I had to respectfully decline and inform them that I was not dancing this evening. Thankfully Mrs. Bennet had not been around to hear my refusals. Mary only kept to herself with a most bored expression on her face.

It was not until very late in the night that the anticipated party arrived with only two ladies and two gentleman besides Mr. Bingley.

There he was; tall, dark haired, strong build and for the life of me I could not see his face. There were too many people milling about between the space of where I sat and the door that he had just entered through. A glimpse of his profile was fleeting, but it showed signs of a straight nose. At last the rest of the assembly became aware of the silent presence of the honourable guests and all went quiet. The band stopped, the dancers stayed their tapping feet and the milling crowd slowed to a stop until at last - if I stood up - I saw Mr. Darcy.

"Holy crap." I muttered. No one heard me but I still brought my hand to my lips to prevent any further slips of the tongue.

He was nothing like the book, nothing like the mini-series, and nothing like the movie. He was handsome, yes, but oh my goodness you can't imagine _that_ kind of handsome. He was striking with a masculinity despite the knee-length breeches he wore and I found myself happy to stare at him for as long as he was in my line of vision.

I barely spared a glance for Bingley, and as for the others, they were all snobs anyway.

"Lizzy, Jane, come here!" The whisper, that was too loud to actually be a whisper, of Mrs. Bennet pulled me from my daydreaming. She was frantically motioning her arms for the pair of us to come to her.

"You see that gentleman there?" Her eyes darted to Mr. Darcy who stood stoically behind his friend, watching the dancers continue their revelry as the band struck up a new song. With the knowledge of his true character, he did not look so above his company, but rather, he looked uncomfortable - almost shy.

"Lady Lucas has just told me he's Mr. Bingley's oldest friend. His name is Darcy, and has a mighty fortune and a great estate in Derbyshire. _Bingley's_ wealth is nothing to his," here she paused for a dramatic draw of her breath; "£ _10,000 a year at least._ Don't you think he's the handsomest man you've ever seen, girls?" Need she even ask.

Sir William, a pudgy old fellow, was currently conversing with Mr. Bingley with quite a few glances directed our way.

"I think they are coming over," I said mildly, trying to keep my own voice from rising above a squeak. Mrs. Bennet straightened herself and put on a wondrously gracious smiles, telling us to do the same.

"Mrs. Bennet," Sir William's round voice announced his presence and that of the gentleman at his side. Darcy trailed just behind, occasionally looking at the dancers and once or twice glancing our way. Our eyes met for an instant but he quickly turned them back round in the opposite direction.

"Mr. Bingley has expressed a wish to become acquainted with you and your daughters."

"Sir, that is very good of you," Mrs. Bennet laughed breathlessly as she curtsied. Jane and I followed suit as the gentleman bowed.

 _'Whoa, just a bit surreal, there.'_

"This is Jane, my eldest; and Elizabeth," I smiled and looked at Mr. Bingley properly for the first time. He was not so bad himself, certainly handsome, but compared to his friend - sorry.

"Mary sits over there; and Kitty and Lydia my youngest, you see, they're dancing." Mr. Bingley looked to where the woman pointed, but surely he could not distinguish them from any of the others who were skipping and jumping with joined hands.

"Do you like to dance yourself?" Mrs. Bennet asked.

"There is nothing I love better and if Miss Bennet is not otherwise engaged may I be so bold as to claim the next two dances?"

Jane smiled bewitchingly, though she was hardly aware of it, and said, "I am not engaged, sir."

"Good!"

The music came to the end of yet another song and Jane and Mr. Bingley gathered with the other couples who were to be dancing next. I was a bit surprised that Mr. Darcy hadn't walked off and offended Mrs. Bennet yet, but there he stood and in fact he was stepping forward.

"Would you care to dance, Miss Bennet?"

I blinked.

He couldn't be.

"I'm sorry?"

"Thank the gentleman, Lizzy." Mrs. Bennet nudged me forward so that his extended hand was right under my nose.

"I - " Only stammers and stutters came out. I couldn't refuse him in front of 'mamma', she'd persist and argue and make a scene that would do no one any good. Time felt to have paused as I thought of the best way to get out of this unprecedented situation. Mrs. Bennet sped things along when she forcibly grabbed my hand and placed it in Mr. Darcy's.

"Uh - "

We were walking towards the row of couples and I felt beads of sweat begin to sprout under my armpits and between my breasts.

"Mr. Darcy," I gently pulled on his arm to stop him from walking. He looked down at me and I tried my hardest not to smile at his stern demeanour. "I am honoured at your request and I do not wish to cause offence, but I cannot dance tonight; I am unable to do so this evening." I watched his eyes for any hint of emotion, but it was well hidden. He released my hand, bowed, and then said, "excuse me," before nobly making his way back to Bingley's sisters and Mr. Hurst.

 _'Well done, Sophie.'_ But really, what could I have done? I would have made Elizabeth look like a complete idiot if I had danced with him. And more importantly, _he_ wasn't even supposed to ask me to dance. What was that about? What - am I so different to Elizabeth that he suddenly found her tolerable and found himself inclined to give consequence to young ladies slighted by other men? Really. This story was starting to get a mind of its own and I wasn't so sure that was a good thing.

I meandered through the people until I located Charlotte sitting with her younger sister Maria, chatting happily and with no sense of impending danger. Their company would do me good.

"Two ladies after all." She said by way of greeting. I smiled as I sat next to her.

"As I said, Mr. Bingley's mien suggested intimate circles."

"You have brought to life a talent, then." Charlotte teased. There was a gap of silence before she spoke again.

"I saw you with Mr. Darcy, Lizzy. Are you not to dance with him?"

 _'You too, huh.'_

"No, I am not feeling quite myself tonight."

"I had noticed, but surely you would not want to slight a man of his worth."

"I did no slighting," I returned. "I merely excused myself with all the grace I could muster and as you see, he complied."

"I thought he looked rather disconcerted at your refusal."

So maybe coming to Charlotte was not the best idea. "He'll get over it," I muttered, "he's a big boy."

For the rest of the evening, everything occurred as I knew it to be, except for Lizzy dancing with Mr. Bingley - that didn't happen - but he did stand up with Charlotte and then returned to Jane with a big toothy smile. Mrs. Bennet watched all with her darting eye; she beamed at her eldest daughter, glared at me, sighed over Mary's hermit like tendencies and laughed with her youngest children. Mr. Bennet would be getting an earful, as would I most likely. Every now and then I let my gaze roam to where I knew Mr. Darcy stood; most times he was staring off into space, but on occasion I would find that his eyes were on me, though they would quickly look away once our eyes met.

 _'Well, I hope I didn't bugger this up too bad.'_

* * *

The morning after the Meryton Ball did not sit well with me. I wasn't sure if I had effected anything negatively by refusing to dance with Mr. Darcy or if everything would sort itself in the end. I wasn't even sure if what happened here would change anything in my world in regards to Pride & Prejudice. I mean, how could it? It was fiction.

I tried to set my mind to the next meeting with Mr. Darcy so that I might remember every detail of the encounter to make sure I fulfill it completely when I recalled the event to be the Lucas's party, but no invitation had been delivered yet which made me wonder if that little party would even be happening. After all, I had already refused to dance with Mr. Darcy; not to say that's how things worked, but who knows. The next meeting would then be when Elizabeth went to Netherfield to check on Jane's health.

That was another thing weighing heavy with me. Before bed last night, Jane and I had stayed up to talk of the ball when I had noticed a rim around her eyes and her nose looking a little swollen. She had coughed a few times and that gave me some concern.

Now, at breakfast, the sky was darkening and Hill had just brought in the morning post with a letter for Miss Bennet from Netherfield. Mrs. Bennet's ears perked up and the rest of her was not long to follow. Her husband presented a slightly battered facade, no doubt the result of being bombarded by every last detail of the previous nights activities and having to hear how 'his Lizzy' flatly refused to stand up with Mr. Darcy. On entering the breakfast parlour that morning I had received a sympathetic smile from the patriarch of the household.

"From Netherfield! Oh, Jane! Well, what does it say?"

"It is from Miss Bingley." Jane informed, poorly keeping the grin from spreading on her face.

"Oh!" The disappointed shock was evident in Mrs. Bennet's voice, but she covered it quickly by exclaiming, "oh, well that is a good sign too." She tossed her napkin onto her plate and tottered over to where Jane sat. "Give it to me." She snatched the letter from her daughter's hands, completely unaware of Jane's put out expression, and began reading the letter aloud.

Her voice reached a particular high, that I believed only bats would be able to hear, when she reached the part of the letter that told that the gentlemen would be dining with the officers. "Oh, that is unfortunate. Still, you must go and make what you can of it. 'Yours ever," she finished the letter, "Caroline Bingley.' Very elegant hand."

"May I have the carriage, father?" Jane asked. Mr. Bennet opened his mouth full of food to answer when he was stopped unceremoniously by his wife.

"The carriage! No, indeed! You must go on horseback, for it looks like rain, then you will have to stay the night."

"Mother!" Jane cried aghast. Her slightly red eyes opened to their fullest as she looked from Mrs. Bennet to Mr. Bennet.

"Mamma," I interjected, "I do not think it would be wise to send Jane out in this weather. As you say, it looks like rain and I believe she is coming down with a cold."

"A cold, what nonsense." Mrs. Bennet cried. "She has no more cold than I, and even if she should it would ensure her seeing Mr. Bingley."

"But to intentionally send her into a storm -"

"Lizzy, I will hear no more. Jane you _will_ go on horseback. You would go all the way to Netherfield and back without seeing Mr. Bingley! No, indeed. You will go on Nellie; that will do very well indeed." Both Jane and I looked to Mr. Bennet but he only gave us a look, as he patted his lips with his napkin, that said all too clearly that there was nothing to be done.

I fretted horribly. It was one thing to read that one Jane Bennet rides out during a rain shower and gets herself soaked and cloaked in water and develops a trifling cold, it was another entirely to see a living, breathing person, whom I've grown personally attached to, whose clearly already feeling under the weather, go out to receive all the anger of the thickening clouds.

"I will be fine Lizzy." Jane tried to reassure me. She was already mounted, side saddle, atop of Nellie as the first drops of rain were starting to hit the top of her bonnet and my bare head.

"Isn't there anything you can cover yourself with?" I inquired for the hundredth time. She was currently sporting three wide handkerchiefs that I had her wrap snugly around her neck, a shawl, and her riding habit which was some protection but not much. If only this period had raincoats.

"I am already as covered as I wish to be. It is not a terrible journey to Netherfield, Lizzy, and I do not feel as terrible as you make me out to be." She gently remonstrated.

"Just make it there as fast as you can."

She nodded, then clicked her tongue and nudged Nellie's side, maneuvering the horse forward. The rain was not heavy yet, though it would be. The sun was utterly blocked from view and there was a blasting wind that shook the branches of the trees with violence; soggy leaves were being tossed into the air and stuck to my dress. Jane was now a pinprick on the lane that in a second would be gone completely by the distance as well as the strengthening rain.

 _'I can't let her go out there alone.'_ I thought. _'Things have already changed in the story; what if this is another? What if something happens?'_

I couldn't clear my thoughts of the pessimistic ones and my worry mounted to a peak that I could no longer bear it. I went in search of one of Elizabeth's sisters.

"Kitty, can you do something for me?"

"What is it, Lizzy?"

"I'm going after Jane. The storm is stronger than I think mamma anticipated. I need you only to tell them where I have gone once they ask, not before. Do you understand?" I spoke in a low voice as I put on a spencer and wrapped two thick shawls about myself. I fumbled a bit on the ribbons of my bonnet so Kitty lended her fingers and tied a loose bow under my chin.

"I understand, Lizzy, and I will do what you ask."

"Sweet girl," I hastily took her face in my hands and kissed the top of her head. "Mind, you don't tell even Lydia before the appointed time."

"I understand." She repeated.

The rain was now a sheet that transformed the few puddles in the front of the house into a marsh. I could feel my boots sinking down in the squelching mud that clung to the soles like glue, making it very difficult to make any kind of progress. My mind was set, however, and though I wasn't entirely sure what I was meant to be doing once I caught up with Jane, I knew I would feel better once I was with her and could make sure that she was out of danger. The path that I followed was a worn one with many tracks of both man and beast, making it impossible to distinguish which were Nellie's. It wasn't until I was a good way out in the middle of the storm and a good way away from Longbourn that I realized I didn't actually know where Netherfield was.

"Well, if I follow this path it must lead to some place where there's people." I muttered to myself. "Oh, I'm so stupid sometimes!" I shouted a second later, kicking the muddy ground in front of me. It splattered up and hit me in the face. "Ugh!"

I wiped the dirt of with the edge of one of the shawls I wore but didn't feel much better after that as I now felt damp and wet across my mouth.

"Jane, where are you!" I shouted as loud as I could but there was no answer. I hardly expected one. So I continued, too stubborn to turn back and still too worried to leave my initial pursuit.I felt I had been walking for years, though, and my legs were starting to feel leaden.

Experiencing the storm myself added a whole new level of fears. What if she slid off the saddle and lay in a ditch? What if Nellie became lame and they fell in a ditch? What if some man assaulted her, stole Nellie, and threw Jane into a ditch? Ditches always seemed prevalent in literature that I figured there must be an awful lot to fall into. I was so consumed by my rumblings that I nearly missed the first glimpses of a large home situated very neatly below a hill. Netherfield Hall.

"Oh, thank my stars!" I exulted.

The rest of the way I half ran, half slid until I approached the estate. There was a grand entry stair that I brought my gaze to. At the very top was a familiar figure being admitted to the house.

I let a constricting breath out. _'She's safe and in no ditch.'_

I stood for a little while, however, contemplating on whether I should ask to see her, when I thought better of it. She'll be sick now, but she's meant to be. My main concern was her not being able to make it to Netherfield.

With a last glance at the estate, I turned and began making my way back to Longbourn. The rain, I noticed was beginning to lighten and I was grateful for that, but I was completely soaked and shivering as I walked along the path. The muck was horrible and I felt my legs were suctions having to be tugged on to be released from the pull of the mud.

At last the rain stopped completely and I shut my eyes in a moments peace of being able to hear my own self think again when my introspection was interrupted by the sound of horses hooves.

"Miss Bennet?" My eyes shot open to see the startled face of Mr. Darcy. He had some wet marks on his hat and coat from the drizzle he must have been riding in, but he was nevertheless much drier than I was. I felt suddenly self conciseness and found that while it was Elizabeth's body, too much was being seen under the delicate material of the dress. We did not say anything for a moment as we both stared at the other, until at last, I could bear it no longer.

"I thought you and Mr. Bingley were dining with the officers."

My voice seemed to snap him out of his shock. "Yes, I - I was, but I left early. How did you know?"

"Miss Bingley wrote to my sister and invited her to dine with herself and Mrs. Hurst. The invitation informed Jane that the gentlemen would not be present." I explained automatically. I was trying to process this new mash of things.

My answer did not provide clarity, however, if Mr. Darcy's expression was anything to go by. He dismounted and walked over, removing his coat as he did so, all the while looking at me curiously.

"That does not explain why you are here, shivering and alone on the road back from Netherfield. Were you turned away at the door?" He asked as he pulled his coat closed around me. I felt instant warmth and a desire to bury my nose in the fabric; I held back from this inclination.

"No, sir. I did not even approach the door. I - I wanted to," I bit my lip, then stopped as I realized that wasn't a proper thing for women to do. I felt his steady gaze on me and for some reason was reminded of Dan the last night I was in my life. I had been too scared to look up at him, to see what I could read in those telling eyes. I felt a similar apprehension presently and had to swallow the lump in my throat before speaking.

"Jane had to come on horseback and I was worried something might happen to her on the way."

"You followed her? And on foot?! In the middle of a storm?!" He said with agitated shock.

"I did." I said, meeting his eyes. His tone was severe and not at all romantic, therefore I was not afraid to level my gaze with his.

"Well, do you know how foolish that was?"

"Are you alright?" I asked, suddenly feeling a pressure at the back of my head.

"I am perfectly fine, madam; you are the one who has scampered about the country in the middle of a rain shower."

"You're slurring your words though."

The next moment I felt strong arms encircle me as the path all at once seemed to be getting closer to my face.

"Miss Bennet?"

"Yes."

"Can you stand, Miss Bennet?"

"I am standing, and it's Miss Devon to you, mister." A strange kind of numb headache erupted suddenly in my brain and I clutched my head; there were stars whizzing about behind the closed shutters of my eyelids. In the next instant the feeling was gone and some presence of mind was returned to me. The first thing to come to my notice was that I was being held by Mr. Darcy.

"What are you doing? Put me down." I uselessly struggled.

"You fainted Miss Bennet." He calmly told me. I stopped my attempts to be put down.

"I did."

"Mmm." Was his only response. He was carrying me over to his grazing horse and delicately placed me on the saddle; a moment later he mounted and situated himself behind me.

"What's happening?" I drowsily asked, watching his hands come to be on either side of my waist as he took up the reigns; he clicked his tongue to guide his horse onwards and we began moving.

"I'm taking you to Netherfield." He said matter-of-factly.

"Why not Longbourn?"

"Netherfield is closer and I fear you may collapse again."

"Oh." Was all I said. Some minutes passed with nothing but silence between us until I broke the quiet.

"Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes, Miss Bennet." His voice was close to my ear and I felt a flutter rise in my stomach which had nothing to do with my fainting.

"Thank you."

There was a pause. "At your service, madam."

* * *

 **A/N:** A slight twist. Don't worry there's more to come. And I know I changed the summary and picture to this story but you know when you look at something of yours and you feel it just doesn't fit and it won't feel right until you fix it - that's what happened. I feel this explains more what the story is about.

I'd like to thank anonymous for donating to Isaak's campaign. It was very warmly appreciated and we'd like you to know how grateful we are to your contribution.

Alright, so for next time we'll have two Bennet gals sick at Netherfield and some more Darcy/Lizzy/Sophie interaction. You know what I mean. And the question this time is: if you were asked to dance by Mr. Darcy but didn't know the steps, would you do it anyway?

'Till next time.


	4. Chapter 4 Being Sick

**Chapter Four**

 **A/N: Some Darcy POV in this chapter.**

My head spun as we made our way to Netherfield, leaving me feeling that if I had been sitting alone I wouldn't be sitting for long but falling to the soggy ground. The strong arms that rested on either side of my waist dispelled any fears on that front as they anchored me to the saddle. The sky was still grey and the air moist and I could see out of the corner of my eyes that my hair was frizzing in a very tangled way. Thoughts of appearance were not most urgent in my mind as I could hardly see straight in front of me. Black spots blurred my vision and I had to put out my hand to steady the spinning that was threatening to plunge me back in unconsciousness. The first thing to grasp was the pommel; my hand shot out from where it rested by my side and seized hold of the smooth handle.

"Miss Bennet?"

Darcy's voice sounded foggy, as if it were coming from the other end of a tunnel.

"Mm. 'm alright. Just - " I couldn't finish my sentence. Instead I closed my eyes and held my forehead in my other hand.

"Here, lean yourself on me, if you must. It would not do to have you falling off the front of my horse."

I cracked open an eye and saw that I was, indeed, very close to teetering off the mare's neck. For some reason I found this immensely humorous and couldn't stop a giggle from bubbling over my lips.

"That wouldn't be very decent of me, would it?"

For Mr. Darcy's part, he refrained from answering that question.

I did as he suggested and leaned my back against his front, feeling for all the world, despite my nausea, that I was in heaven. After that brief exchange, talk was limited and I contended my self to resting my head on his shoulder with my eyes shut to the peeping sun that was first making its tentative appearance after the storm. My thoughts concerning Jane returned when I felt the shadow of Netherfield's impressive structure fall across my face, stirring me from my shallow doze. My head pitched and I felt as if the entire world was within me, spinning at breakneck speeds. If these were early signs of my coming down with a cold, they were very persuasive. I only hoped that Jane was not feeling as disoriented as I.

The clopping of the horse's hooves on the drive crunched mercilessly in my ears and beneath my now sore bottom.

"Fields, see to her." The command was given next to my ear and sounded unnecessarily loud. A moment later, I felt myself being pushed off the horse and down into somebody's waiting arms. I tried to see who, but the motion of turning my head, even slightly, brought on another wave of dizziness; stronger than the last one. The black spots reappeared and I felt my consciousness slipping away fast.

"Darcy?" The muttered words sounded faint and nervous and it was only when I realized that the tone matched my feelings that I comprehended that I had been the one to call him.

"I am here, Miss Bennet." The strong arms that held me, presently, shifted and moved until I was in a pair of new ones; ones I knew were Darcy's. He carried me somewhere, no doubt inside Netherfield, but I was not present for that. Once my head hit his chest I was gone.

* * *

He hadn't hesitated once he saw how unsteady Miss Bennet had been. It was a case of performing a service for a lady in distress and he fulfilled it. His own personal thoughts and opinions in regards to the lady had no sway in his decision to bring her to Charles's home. She was clearly unwell and miles from her own home, whereas Netherfield lay not a quarter of a mile off. It was the obvious course of action and he would not allow any other reasoning enter his thoughts.

Although (his stubborn mind whispered at him as he carried the inert form of Miss Bennet) there was an intriguing aspect to the young woman that had first caught his notice at the assembly rooms. So much so that it had induced him to ask for her hand in the next dance. He had surprised even himself and clearly she had been taken unawares, though he wondered why that would be.

Nevertheless, he had acted purely from the desire to see Miss Bennet well, as he would for any young lady of his acquaintance.

As he mounted the stairs towards the hall where the bedchambers were stationed he came across a startled Miss Bingley.

"Good heavens! Who is that?" Her narrowed eyes scanned the seemingly lifeless form of Elizabeth with reserve.

"It is Miss Elizabeth. I found her on the lane from Netherfield. She had clearly been walking in the rain and immediately after she fell into a faint. Is there a room in which we may put her?"

Miss Bingley hesitated a second, then turned, talking over her shoulder. "There is one that adjoins the chamber we put her sister in."

"Her sister?"

"Yes." Miss Bingley mildly smirked. "Miss Bennet, too, was caught in the storm and has taken ill. I wonder greatly what possessed Miss Elizabeth to do likewise." She flashed a pointed look at Darcy, but he hadn't noticed. His mind was focused on the chances of a doctor already having been called upon and on his way, or if one had come and gone and was not likely to return till the morrow.

"We have sent for Doctor Martin only ten minutes past." Miss Bingley helpfully stated. "He will be able to examine both sisters."

"Indeed."

The room that was to be occupied by Elizabeth was small but bright. The windows shed a pale light onto the bed across from it and the curtains were soft. Miss Bingley swiftly pulled the covers down allowing Darcy to place Elizabeth withing the warm alcove of the sheets. The unconscious form twitched her nose and curled smoothly into a ball once she was enveloped by the gentle blankets.

Darcy placed the back of his hand against her forehead and frowned at his findings. "She grows warmer."

"She will rest now."

The two moved out of the room with quiet steps; the only noise to mark their exit was the soft click of the door closing.

* * *

 _"Soph, come on."_

 _"No." I shook my head with quick jerks side to side._

 _"You won't regret it." Dan insisted._

 _His hands were on either side of my hips, holding me securely to him. But no matter how safe I felt with him behind me there was no way I was going to open my eyes._

 _"It's not that bad." He tried to encourage. The continuous blowing of the fire into the balloon was all that could really be heard besides those that spoke right in your ear, which is what Dan did just now._

 _"Not so loud."_

 _"Sorry."_

 _I nodded in acknowledgment to his apology and remained with shut eyes. The hot air balloon ride had been a surprise and one that I had been coerced into doing. If I hadn't been so terrified of toppling out I would have pummeled his chest with my fists. As it was, I kept my composure and was slightly thankful for his presence behind me. A few minutes of silence passed between us until he spoke again._

 _"Soph, I'm sorry, but you have to look."_

 _I moaned in dread. With a deep breath, I mustered enough courage to peep open one eye, than another until both were spread wide and taking in the view of the sprawling land beneath us. I felt Dan's arms tighten around me, bringing me closer to him._

 _"I told you."_

 _His face was right next to mine and I looked at him._

 _"Yes, well, don't get used to being right." I meant to peck his cheek, but he turned his head at that moment and our lips met instead._

My eyes shot open. The heavy sounds of breathing took me a second to realize were coming from my own heaving chest and that sweat was pouring from my armpits, forehead and between my breasts. I began to sit up but a wave of nausea struck me and I had to lurch to the side of the bed where the contents of my stomach were deposited onto the shiny wood floors.

"Sorry." I groaned to the sullied floor. I flopped back onto my back and attempted to calm my breathing, but it was proving useless. The dream, or rather, memory was still lingering and agitating me profusely.

That hot-air balloon ride had been when Dan and I had flown to Arizona for our first year anniversary. He had surprised me with the plane tickets and then surprised me even more when he told me that we were not just going to Arizona but to Las Vegas. That had been before, when everything was still good between us and no obsessive fantasy had gotten in the way.

I sighed and tried to dispel those memories; they would only make me sad now.

All around me were white, cream coloured sheets and blue curtains that had me feeling that I was in some five star hotel, but I hazily remembered where I was. Some room in Netherfield.

I wiped my mouth and fluttered my eyes closed once more. The day was beginning to turn into the evening but I felt too burdened with my own bodily aches to worry what the Bennets at Longbourn must be thinking. No doubt Kitty had told them of my whereabouts, but I'm sure they had expected me long ago.

A hoarse cough erupted out of me, leaving my throat feeling even more raw and sensitive.

"Dear, dear, what do we have here?"

I looked to the opening door and saw an old man coming in with a large bag in his hand. He had a kindly face, but I was inclined to pull the covers a little higher as he was still a stranger to me.

"Walking about in the rain - on foot." He prattled on. He was pulling up a chair beside the bed when he saw my sick on the floor.

"Well, I have one of the symptoms already." He rang the bell that would summon a servant and in the meantime came to sit on the other side of the bed.

"You're a doctor." I assumed.

"I am." He said, placing his bag on the floor beside his feet.

"Do you know how Jane is?" I asked softly. My sore throat made it painful to speak too loudly or for too long.

"I have just come from her bedside and, at first glance, find identical symptoms in this sickbed. Do you have a headache?"

Wishing not to move my head overly much, nor speak, I gave him a thumbs up and hoped he would understand my meaning. He looked at the appendage with confusion, then took my entire hand in his.

"Does your thumb ail you?" He inquired. I couldn't help a smile. He chuckled.

"I see whatever you may be suffering from it is not a lack of humour."

"It means 'yes'." I whispered.

"Ah, I see."

At that moment a servant came in and acquainted herself with the mess I had made. She did so quietly but there was no missing her wrinkled nose or her outstretched arms as she carried the soiled towels and basin away. I wanted to thank her, but I hadn't the energy to say so loud enough for her fast pace to hear me as she walked out the door. Barely had she gone when her presence was replaced by Mr. Darcy. He knocked softly at the door.

"Mr. Darcy, do come in." The doctor motioned for him to enter with a quick urging motion with his hand. Mr. Darcy did so and stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes flicking once or twice to mine.

"How is she, Doctor Martin?" He addressed only the physician.

"I believe her to be inflicted with a cold, same as her sister. The symptoms are accurate, and in her case exposed to their fullest." He motioned in the general direction of where my vomit had just been, apparently supposing that Darcy knew what he was gesturing towards. He turned in his chair, bringing his knees in direct line of my elbow and his face peering down at me.

"Your throat, is it sore?"

My thumb went up and he chuckled.

"What is that?" Darcy asked, confused.

"It is her way of answering without moving or speaking. And, my dear," he said to me once more, "is there a pain here?" He tapped the corners of his eyes. Another thumbs up.

"And you say she fainted twice?" He turned his head to Mr. Darcy who nodded. "Once when I found her and the other when we had arrived here."

"I did?" I croaked. I cleared my throat, but that only made it worse so I refrained from asking any more questions.

"You did, Miss Bennet. Hardly surprising if you are to waltz about the country in a down pour."

I opened my mouth to respond but the hitch in the back of my throat told me better.

"I recommend bed rest, liquids, warmth and I strongly encourage both Miss Bennets to remain here until they have regained their strength."

Mr. Darcy nodded at once and shook the doctor's hand as the latter rose from his chair. His bag had lain untouched and I was grateful. I was not eager to meet with the medieval methods some of the practitioners of medicine were fond of using.

"I will check here in a day or so, by then there should be some progress in your conditions. In the meantime, is there anything of a particular nature that you would like done?" He smiled down at me and I could only respond with a thumbs up. As the sign had given him amusement the first two times, it did so again. "And it would be?" Both he and Mr. Darcy leaned forward to catch my whispered words.

"Family. M-my family."

"Not to worry, Miss Bennet," Doctor Martin announced, "I have it on good authority that a letter has been dispatched forthwith and has no doubt already been received and read by your dear parents."

He and Mr. Darcy then began walking towards the door with the former saying, "the best treatment for you now, my dear, is to return to your slumber. Rest now and later you will be given some sustenance."

The mention of food made my stomach lurch, but I suppressed the nausea and settled into the soft pillows. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Darcy's form pause a moment at the door. I let him look without catching him out and finally smiled when he left.

 _"Already falling in love with her - I mean me - or - is there a difference?"_ I wondered. With a headache I did not even try to figure that one out but fell almost immediately into a deep sleep.

I don't know how long I was asleep for but when I opened my eyes the curtains were closed and there was no light slipping through the fabric. There was neither a light in the room and my my eyes had to adjust to the darkness around me. The light colouring of the room, however, made it easy to quickly distinguish the different pieces of furniture and that made me feel easier. I did not move, not even to readjust my position; I felt to do so would cause a fit of coughing, therefore I remained precariously perched on the raised pillows. The lids of my eyes were heavy and the serene atmosphere lulled me back into a long sleep that I didn't wake from until late the next morning.

With that waking, I was met with half open curtains and the light of the day streaming through the large glass windows. I lifted a heavy hand but the movement produced the coughing fit I was dreading.

It was long and deep, racking my entire body and leaving me feeling much weaker. From the force of it, I was pushed into a sitting position. My throat was worse and my nose was congested. The usual happenings of the morning when one has a cold. The loud hacking must have reached past my door because there was a soft knock followed by Mr. Bingley.

"Miss Bennet - Oh! Miss Bennet, let me assist you."

He fluffed my pillows and raised them higher, then took hold of my arm and eased me back whilst the end of my coughing fit sputtered out. I felt my face to be a wet and ugly mess and tried to hide it from him but he had no qualms. I saw him searching his pockets, patting them down with the palm of his hands and inserting his index and middle fingers until he produced a handkerchief.

"Miss Bennet," he offered and I accepted it gratefully, smothering my face and wiping it clean. All manner of my sickness came off onto it and when I finished I looked at him hesitantly.

"I am in no need of it presently." He smiled, his hands extended with his palms facing me. Returning the smile, I tossed the crumpled hanky across the bed and edged it to the corner.

"I have just come from your sister and shall report back to her. She has been tremendously anxious since she was told of your being here."

"I did not intend to give her any discomfiture," I whispered, trying to clear some of the phlegm that had lodged there during the night. "I had been worried, though. I wanted to see her reach Netherfield safely."

"Miss Bennet, you needn't concern yourself. Your devotion to your sister is commendable and quite enviable." He took a seat in the chair left out by the doctor the prior day and scooted it closer to the bed. I scratched my nose, feeling it clear slightly now that I was sitting upright.

"Would your sisters not do the same if you were in similar dangers?" I lightly teased. I was pleased to see that he was open to play.

"My sisters would consider it beneath them to sodden their petticoats in compensation of rescuing their foolhardy brother."

I began to laugh, but it caught in my throat and morphed into a cough.

"Miss Bennet, I am sorry. I should not be amusing you - "

"No, you should. Never mind my cough; I'd have done it at some point or another."

"Alright then," he gave a toothy grin. "Would you like something to eat?" He looked to a tray on the dresser I hadn't noticed before now.

"Oh. No, thank you. I don't think that would be a good idea."

He assented to my request and remained seated.

"Your garments have been laundered and are dry. They will be brought up shortly."

"My garments?" My voice came out as a croak and I had to pause a moment. "I didn't even know that I was out of my garments." I looked down and saw that I wore a night gown.

Mr. Bingley took on a lovely red hue that complimented his light hair. "Oh, ah, yes, well, I believe one of the maids...er...assisted you."

 _"Do not worry, Mr. Bingley, I had not thought it was you."_ I almost said and then thought better of it.

He did not stay much longer and I was both glad and disappointed. Alone, it was boring, yet with the company I was required to talk, which did not help my throat. There was nothing to do, nothing to distract from the monotonous silence of the room, and nothing to think about other than being sick. I couldn't even think about Darcy without feeling incredibly cliched for fainting in his arms and appearing as the damsel in distress. I tried to contemplate the subject of love - on whether it would be Elizabeth or myself that he was falling in love with. It was her body and her features, but the personality was all mine, so maybe it would be that he didn't fall in love at all.

I shrugged and reached for Bingley's hanky, as I felt my nose needed swift attention. The fabric was quickly getting soiled and I had no clue as to what I would use, after it was all spent, to blow my nose in. I couldn't very well use the sheets.

The ticking clock in the room ticked on as I began counting the panes in the windows for want of a better diversion.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

I turned my head and was startled to see Mr. Darcy standing in the doorway. One hand on the handle of the door, the other holding a couple of volumes.

"I had knocked but you did not answer; I was not sure if you were asleep. May I?" He looked at the room as a whole as if he were asking the very architecture itself if he may enter its structure.

"Yes, please have a seat." I motioned to the famous chair that was soon filled with a whole lot of handsome. I pulled the sheets higher up and sunk myself deeper in the pillows, not wanting him to see me too clearly. My nose was most likely red and chapped and not at all pleasant to look at. He sat there a moment, idly handling the books back and forth between his hands as he looked at me.

"Uh...I brought you these. I know not if you have an inclination for reading," he said, handing me the books, "but I thought it a better way of passing the time than sitting with nothing to do."

I read the unfamiliar titles, passing my hand across the covers.

"I wasn't sure what you might take an interest in, so I - " he paused a moment when I looked up at him. "I chose what I thought suited what I know of you."

It was a very tempting carrot to take, to tease him in how much he knew of me, but I let it go.

"Thank you." I said. I rested them in my lap and resumed my watch of him. He sat awkwardly, but I was not put off by that. I knew his nature and his shyness and that made him all the more endearing. However, there were limits to how long two people can be in a room together with nothing passing between them other than furtive glances.

"I have not had the opportunity to thank you for...I suppose rescuing me. I had not thought of it in that way, but had you not found me when you had I would have been unconscious in the lane."

"Perhaps that will deter you from such an outing again, I hope."

"Believe, Mr. Darcy, I do not need so strong a consequence to discourage me from walking out in the pouring rain again. I had not wanted to do it in the first place, but I had been apprehensive in Jane's welfare."

He nodded and I wondered if he was thinking of his own sister and to what lengths he had recently gone to, to extricate her from the philandering grasp of Wickham.

"Have you a sister, Mr. Darcy?" I asked innocently. I was still required to whisper and he, therefore, was required to lean closer to hear me.

"Yes," he answered immediately. "Georgiana, she is just turned sixteen."

"A very trying age."

"Indeed." That was all he said on that point of the conversation.

"Will she join you here?" So many other things had altered because of my presence that I couldn't discount the possibility.

"No, she remains in Derbyshire."

I sighed. It was a difficult thing to conduct a conversation with a man who responded with curt answers. A passage of time elapsed between us in which we both looked at anything but the other. I eventually found refuge in the books in my lap and started scanning their pages when Mr. Darcy spoke. His voice was tentative, as if he were not entirely sure he should be asking this.

"My impression of you, Miss Bennet, is a very open countenance, however, there is a point I would have you answer, if you would be so kind."

I nodded for him to continue.

"At the assembly rooms - why is it that you at the first accepted my hand for the dance yet when we walked to the floor you then proceeded to reject me?"

Of all the questions, I hadn't been expecting that. Had that been in his thoughts since that evening two nights back?

"Mr. Darcy," I started, "I am sorry if I caused you any embarrassment, but...may I speak plainly?"

He looked slightly startled at my frankness, but consented. I was about to tell him the truth when I realized it would make no sense if I told him that I didn't know how to dance.

"I was not dancing that night," I substituted. "My mother must not have remembered and answered for me. I truly am sorry if I offended you in any way."

His expression was difficult to read, but I thought I detected a lightening in mien.

"I was sure that it must have been something of that kind, but was unable to keep my curiosity in check. Forgive my impertinence."

"Not at all."

Perhaps," he hesitated, rubbing his hands slowly together. "Whensoever there is another opportunity to dance, may I have the privilege of your hand?"

"Of course, Mr. Darcy. I cannot say no to you who has helped me." I smiled.

He did not return the expression, but stood from the chair and bid me to take part in some of the soup before leaving me to myself.

Once he was gone I resumed my gaze of the clear window, though I was not counting the panes, but rather thinking of how on earth I was going to dance with Darcy.

"Bugger."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hope you enjoyed the chapter and we'll be seeing more of Darcy's thinking throughout the story. And something about me, I don't bite so don't be afraid to leave a review.

An update on Isaak - he's as cute as ever and could still use all the help he can get. Sharing him would help greatly.

The question this time is - If you could trade places with any heroine from any book who would it be?


	5. Chapter 5 Tuned Masks & Imaginative Eyes

**Chapter Five: Tuned Masks and Imaginative Eyes**

A couple of days went by, though I was hardly aware of them passing. The most sense I had was when I was being fed spoonfuls of soup and was forced to make my throat work. Doctor Martin had come one other time (to my knowledge) and assessed that my condition was not improving. His kindly face was turned somewhat sour at the news he was required to deliver; a frown did not suit him.

To me, it was all the same. I felt horrible no matter what exactly my illness was morphing into. If I die - I wondered throughout my hours of tortures leisure - will I pop back into my own body, in my own time? Or will this have been it and I die without ever seeing my mum again, or Jules, or Jax? Or even Dan, whispered a very small voice in the very recesses of my mind. Those musings had disturbed me to a point that they followed me to my slumber where they were given free reign to torment and subject my subconscious to nightmares. I woke my self with my crying, or rather, my attempts at crying. The soreness that persisted in my throat did not allow any sobs to pass without the emotion coming out as a braying sound, almost reminiscent of a donkey. The noise had attracted a maid (Lord knows what she was doing up at that hour. Perhaps a late night visit to the groom or one of the footmen?) and I was swiftly attended to and soothed. In my state of grogginess I was unable to make out the face of who it was that pressed a cool compress to my brow, but I was thankful nevertheless. After that, I decided to not dwell on questions with possibly morbid answers and to refrain from dying. I thought it a good plan.

Once or twice I was aware of the sister snobs coming into visit me. They sat on either side of me, on the very edge of the mattress, and both imitated the gesture of the other by loosely grasping my hands with a handkerchief as barrier between the skin. If only they knew that they were in danger just from breathing the same air as I. That did make me smile.

"Miss Eliza, are you feeling any better?" The faux concern oozing from Miss Bingley was enough to make me want to sneeze openly without covering my mouth. As I found myself doing more and more, I refrained and tried at a small smile instead.

"I believe a little better, thank you." My words were almost immediately contradicted by a burst of coughing that overtook my whole body. The sister snobs relinquished my hands with a jerk and jumped to their feet, covering their own mouths and noses with their slender and polished fingers. The image, strangely put me in mind of how doctors and nurses from my time wore the round masks on the lower terrain of their face when doing surgery or dealing with infectious cases. Very odd nurses I had by my bedside, indeed.

"Louisa, fetch my smelling salts. She looks as if she's about to faint."

"No," I coughed. "I am well." I coughed again. And then again. My nurses were not looking convinced. "Oh please don't get the smelling salts." I managed to say before relapsing into another fit of coughing.

"What's all this?" A masculine voice joined the show of the spectacle that was me as I flailed about trying my best to calm my lungs as well as my throat.

"Charles, what do you do here?" One of the sister snobs inquired. They had so far listened to my request of no smelling salts, but they were yet to come up with an alternative to stop my coughing. I could imagine it was as pleasant on their ears as it was on my entire self, but still they talked!

"I come from Miss Bennet and thought I would offer the same company to her sister."

"Oh yes, dear Jane is looking tremendously better," here a glance was thrown in my direction from the disdainful gaze of Miss Bingley as I now attempted to subdue my wretched body with a pillow to my mouth. "And it only being two days. She possesses not only superior features but a robust constitution."

"Indeed, she does." Mrs. Hurst echoed.

"Yes, the colour in her cheeks are returned and her eyes no longer are fanned by a glazed look." I didn't have to see to know that Mr. Bingley was smiling, I only wished he would have been in love at any other moment. I was beginning to feel lightheaded and the siblings' chatter was becoming nothing more than background noise at the other end of a very confusing tunnel when I was snapped into a modicum of reality by the sharp step of yet another person entering my sick room.

"Charles, bring the basin." The strong voice ordered as a broad hand gently pushed back my hair that was sticking to my temples. The chatter stopped abruptly, not even the sister snobs had anything to say as they watched Fitzwilliam Darcy tend to their hacking guest as any gentleman would do. Mr. Bingley appeared at his friend's elbow, basin in hand, within the second of his being given the task.

"Hold it." Mr. Darcy instructed. He kept one hand on my still shuddering shoulder as he used his other to dip a cloth into the water. "Miss Bennet, if you'll allow me?"

I couldn't say yes or even move my head in an affirmative nod. Any slight movement and I knew it would set off my predictable coughing yet again. I caught his eye and implored him to understand the meaning behind my own windows. He did, and set to padding down my face with the welcoming moisture.

The silence that followed was even more pronounced than the first; shock was the main cause for the sister snobs to be at a loss for words and I thanked that inability most profoundly.

Between my inclination to lean back and Mr. Darcy's careful maneuvering, I found myself returned to my former attitude of lying down, and for the moment, blessed by functioning lungs. The cloth was taken from my face and deposited into the basin with one fluid movement. The sister snobs began to make some noise again, but only in the vain of breathing; they had not quite recovered their tongues.

"Are you better, Miss Bennet?" Mr. Darcy asked, rubbing his hands dry. I smiled by way of answer and was shocked to see a slight upturning of the corner of his very own lips. It was gone instantly, but it had most certainly been there. "Then I think we will leave you to rest." He motioned for the others to follow his lead with an extended arm aligning with the door to the hall. The sister snobs exited first, then Mr. Bingley who had first to put down the basin and give me a quick, apologetic smile, and then Mr. Darcy was the last to go with one parting nod and glance about the room before the door shut quietly behind him.

"I apologize, Darcy," I heard Mr. Bingley say from the other side of the door; "I had not been completely myself when I entered Miss Elizabeth's room. I had been - "

"Distracted?" Mr. Darcy offered. I had to assume that Mr. Bingley nodded as there was no vocal answer and the next to speak was Mr. Darcy again. "By the other Miss Bennet in that room there."

"Pre-cis-ely." Mr. Bingley enunciated. They began to walk, so the last I heard was the slightly remonstrative tone of Mr. Darcy as he said, "only try not to be too distracted with one that you fail to tend to the other." The response he received was a sheepish laugh and if I could I would have joined in the merriment. As it was, I was able to smile to myself before slipping off into the fifth sleep of just that morning.

* * *

The sister snobs, as Sophie had begun to characterize Mr. Bingley's sisters, were the first to make their displeasure known of having their home used as hospital for the locals. Their brother told them that they exaggerated and that it was only two and from the same family and sisters on top of all that.

"Yes, dear Charles," Miss Bingley cooed with flat lips, "but we had invited only the one. The other was quite unintentional, I can assure you. In fact, if Mr. Darcy had not met Miss Eliza on the road she would not be here." The ungracious hostess tittered.

"No, indeed, she would not be here, rather more likely an actual hospital and in much worse conditions than we presently find her in." Mr. Darcy murmured quietly, though all in the room heard him, save of course for Mr. Hurst who contributed to the conversation with his heavy snoring.

"Quite." Miss Bingley responded with an uncertain expression adorning her features.

"I cannot wish Miss Bennet away," Mr. Bingley put in, buttressing his friend's argument of the two women being in no better place than their current locations. "And I am sure you all agree in some form or another."

"For dear Jane, anything and everything," Miss Bingley proclaimed with all the art of saying it all without meaning a jot of it. "For her sister, whom we hadn't even invited; it is another matter entirely."

"She shows concern for her sister which is most admirable." Mr. Bingley defended for the good ladies behalf.

"An admiration that breaches all propriety." Mrs. Hurst rallied to her sister's side.

"It is a shame that Jane has connections so low and undignified, but that is the way of the world." Miss Bingley tossed her hand in an appropriately exhausted manner that suggested she had tried to conquer 'the way of the world' for the better but had failed miserably and was now only content to discuss it as a lost cause.

"The way of the world, as you call it, is nothing that cannot be outmaneuvered by kindness shown to those in need of help." Her brother rebutted with a force that hinted at his having notions leading in the direction of conquering 'the way of the world' but succeeding where his dear sister had failed.

"Only do not let that kindness lead all the way to your pocket-book." Miss Bingley hissed in warning. She was growing tired of this conversation.

"My pocket-book! Good heavens! How did that enter into the general discussion of kindness. I was alluding to tending to our neighbors in their time of need." Mr. Bingley exclaimed with a youthful flush to his face.

"Our neighbors' time of need may be always and forever if you are to pity them and open yourself to hand-outs."

"You mistake the situation, Caroline."

"I mistake nothing, Charles. The Bennets are not so poor to be without a carriage, yet Miss Bennet comes on horseback during a violent rain shower." She held up a hand to stop her brother from interrupting. "I grant you that she is hardly to blame. Her temperament is too sweet and gentle to argue with the voracious mother she has to appease, but as for her sister, there is a quickness behind those eyes that I took immediate distrust to. She does worse than Jane for she comes unbidden and on foot in the very same rain shower her sister had just passed through."

"Your assessment is accurate in all areas except one," the interruption came from not her brother but from the reclining gentleman Miss Bingley had particular avarice for. "Miss Elizabeth did not intend to come to Netherfield; she meant only to assure herself that her sister reached the house safely - no doubt recognizing the same voracious tendencies from her mother as you have just described - but when I had found her, she was returning to Longbourn."

Miss Bingley found no satisfaction in his statement, therefore, she reverted to her former point of pocket-books, voracious mothers, and hospitals in a jumbled manner that forced her to soon quit speaking altogether. Mr. Bingley could guess what she was hinting at, but would make no more of it. Nothing his sisters could say would cast doubt upon the angel image of Miss Bennet, however, he thought it best not to test it.

Mr. Darcy, after having voiced his remarks, remained silent, listening with one ear whilst attending to his own musings with his stoic mien in place. His crossed legs jittered from time to time but that was just his impatience of being seated for too long. He'd then stand and carry himself to the window where he would stare out the delicate barrier, still with the upright and rigid form of one whose in complete and utter surety of oneself. But there! - a shoulder sagged an infinitesimal fraction, but then it bounded back to its proper station of perpendicular alignment with his neck.

The eyes, Miss Bingley had so acutely drawn forth, were there now; staring back at him in the reflection of the glass. They were somewhat subdued in their natural lustre, having only the aid of a stifled imagination to bring them into being, but they were hers and he could not seem to blink them out of existence.

"Darcy, you alright?" Mr. Bingley called a little louder than his sister had. Mr. Darcy turned in equal measures of having the appearnece of meaning to ignore the first call of his name and respond only to the second beckoning.

"Fine. Why ever do you ask?"

"You did not answer my question, sir." Miss Bingley said.

"And that would be?"

"Do you not find it peculiar," here her beady eyes narrowed and contrasted greatly with the still present image of the round orbs Mr. Darcy had in mind; "that Miss Eliza was so _fortunate_ as to come across your path when hurrying home."

Mr. Darcy sighed as he retraced his steps back to his chair. "Are we still entertaining this subject?"

As his only answer were two pairs of intent stares he preceded to answer the question. "Yes, it was fortunate that Miss Bennet and I crossed paths, but I can assure you it was not by design." He persisted calmly.

"Mr. Darcy, you are too good, but you shall not fool me. How could it be otherwise. Therefore, I give you this friendly warning to be on your guard when matters concern the second eldest of the Bennet daughters. I have heard her mentioned as a local beauty, though I find no base for such claims myself, however it is said and such words can work their way into the vanity of a young girl on the threshold of womanhood. She may think herself able to capture the attentions of certain persons who were not originally in view of her horizons. I should loath to see any gentleman of repute beguiled by seemingly sincere acts of helplessness."

"Then I advise a limited society for yourself as young gentleman, as much as any young lady, are almost always involved in the hunt." Mr. Darcy replied evenly, though not rudely. His terseness was effective in ending the discussion for which he was grateful. The emotion did not remain with him long as it was announced, just a few minutes after the conclusion of their talk, that Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Bennet, and Miss Bennet were come to see their daughters and sisters.

A great hullabaloo followed and it was uncertain if the voracious mother and her young were to be shown to the attending healthy or to the attending sick; it was decided upon the latter. This gave ample opportunity for the sister snobs to tune their masks to the fitted reception of Mrs. Bennet and her young when that party finally descended the grand stair and entered the front parlour.

"Mrs. Be-"

"Oh, Mr. Bingley! It is too good of you, sir. Too good. I cannot help but wonder at our good fortune of having you as a near neighbor - not above three miles - and with such Christian values as yourself in aiding my poor girls. It is too good." The iron maiden of the time, after having burst through the doors in reminiscent fashion of a charger, with her daughters all in a huff of air behind her scurrying along, came to stand in the precise middle of the room where she orated to the surrounding panels, panes of glass window, door handles, etc. of her gratitude. The ears of the room were not to be listed among the artifacts that suffered from such exclamations, for the ears had some sense and had ceased with the listening of such tedious tittle-tattle almost before the iron maiden had bounded through the doors.

Mr. Darcy excused himself from the pretense of having to contort his face into a manner of false listening and moved once more to the window where the fields of Netherfield held an infinitely greater interest.

The sister snobs, their masks tuned correctly, had the pleasurable free reign of thinking on whatever they chose whilst knowing the precise moment an alteration of expression was required in keeping pace with Mrs. Bennet's flow of words. Their brother was not so gifted in presenting a face unnatural to his true tendencies, nor was he equipped in keeping up with the Mrs. Bennet's scattered subjects and half fluttered words, therefore, he maintained a rather dubious countenance throughout the whole of the interview. Mr. Hurst was undisturbed in his sleep.

"And I shudder to think what would have befallen my poor dear if you had not brought her in. I can assure you it was as clear as any spring morning when she set off on Nellie, alas the clouds set in and it was too late to have summoned her back for she had been gone above a quarter of an hour." Between a hastily drawn breath, Mrs. Bennet had to catch her tongue before it flew of on another whirlwind of apologetic nonsense that was as sincere as the sister snobs' tuned masks, for Mr. Darcy chose that moment to interject his thoughts.

"I think, madam, that your second eldest did not agree with the sentiment you have just now thoroughly explained." He turned only slightly from his position at the window to look at the iron maiden who stiffened subtly as her narrowed eyes and calculating ears detected the calmest of challenges laid at her door. He continued.

"It was lucky, indeed, that I left early from the officer's dinner and happened upon her on the road." Mr. Darcy was not in the practice of tuning his mask, as the sister snobs were want to do, but that is not to say he did not, on occasion, produce a cover that allowed him to partake in conversations he would ordinarily have refrained from becoming apart of. Behind the orbs that were now fixed on Mrs. Bennet, waiting for her answer, resided the imaginative eyes of Miss Bennet who would not leave him even now as the creator of those eyes stood before him. It was a distraction, nothing more and nothing less. He had been attracted to those eyes almost immediately; further still when he had seen them brought to life by the exertion of the wearer in the pouring rain; the black lashes tipping them into clearer brilliance. Even when they were brought low and glazed, he found himself flexible in roaming the other features presented on the face and found equal interest in the red lips that had weakly smiled up at him in thanks.

The stark contrast standing some feet away from him only enhanced the imaginative eyes further, leaving a part of his mind to think that the distraction was weighing heavier in the 'nothing less' category than the 'nothing more' category.

"A very lucky chance, indeed, sir." Mrs. Bennet rejoined with as high a pitched voice as could be managed and with all the womanly graces bestowed to her on her birth. "To think of our poor Lizzy," _our_ poor for Lizzy, and _my_ dear for Jane; "off on her own, and with no aid for miles and miles until your good self chose to appear and bring her to Netherfield. I know Mr. Bennet shares my hearty thanks for you seeing right by our daughter, and I do, I do thank you most graciously, sir."

Mr. Darcy nodded once, then returned his gaze to the window.

By this time Mr. Bingley had adequately accustomed himself to the patterns of Mrs. Bennet's speech and imitated his friend by stopping her as she went to draw breath.

"Mrs. Bennet, I hope you do not find either of your daughters worse than you expected."

Here the voracious mother turned her countenance into grave disparity. "Indeed I do, sir. Miss Bennet is very ill indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world, for she has the sweetest temper, Mr. Bingley. But she is a great deal too ill to be moved...as is her sister. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness."

"But of course!" Mr. Bingley was prompt to answer.

"Miss Bennet and Miss Eliza will receive every possible attention, ma'am, I assure you." Miss Bingley opened her tuned mask to say, stretching the disguise almost completely off.

"You are very good." Mrs. Bennet curtsied with a bob of her curled head. And then, with the suddenness of casting off her maternal duties, Mrs. Bennet's countenance flipped yet again as she appraised the room surrounding her as if she had first bid in an auction house; which, in her mind, she did. "Well, you have a sweet room here! I think you will never want to leave Netherfield now you are come here." She strode the length of the room, her narrowed eyes widening at the intake of wealth.

"I believe I should be happy to live in the country forever. Wouldn't you, Darcy?" Mr. Bingley posed to his friend.

"You would?" He questioned, almost surprised, as he turned from the window and stepped next to Mr. Bingley. "You don't find the society somewhat confined and unvarying for your tastes?"

"Confined? And unvarying? Indeed it is not, sir!" The iron maiden shot across the room, her pitch becoming impossibly higher. Her temper was not to be contained when she felt herself insulted; even should it be from the man who saved Elizabeth. "The country is a vast deal pleasanter than town, whatever you may say about it!"

The soft cover Mr. Darcy had used prior fell away with the slight upturned motion of his eyes as he returned to the magnetic window.

"Do pardon me," Mr. Bingley interposed, "but may be you mistake Darcy's meaning."

"Do I?" She asked of him, though with enough mind to lower her voice when speaking to her portended son-in-law. "He seems to think the country nothing at all! Confined, unvarying!" She uttered with a spastic shake of her present handkerchief, gripped in her hand. "I would have him know we dine with four-and-twenty families!" She finished smugly. However, the tuned masks of the sister snobs were not tuned enough to ignore that last outburst without showing some true feeling. They began giggling and snorting in a constrained manner that only added more awkwardness to the room. Mr. Bingley's dubious expression was joined by another - that of embarrassment.

"Sir William being among them," Mrs. Bennet continued, exchanging quantity for quality. "What an agreeable man he is! That is my idea of good breeding. And those persons who fancy themselves very important, and never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter." She at last ended with a flowing of skirts as she seated herself in a vacant chair.

The three Bennet girls who so far remained silent and watchful, now took the opportunity presented and Lydia asked, "Mr. Bingley, did you not promise to give a ball at Netherfield as soon as you were settled here?" Said gentleman stepped forward smiling, glad of the diverting topic.

"It will be a great scandal if you don't keep your word."

"I am perfectly ready to keep my engagement. And when your sister is recovered, you shall name the day of the ball, if you please."

"Oh! There, now, Lydia!" The voracious mother exclaimed from her perch. "That's a fair promise for you! That's generosity for you!" And after a meandering glance at Mr. Darcy's back, "That's what I call gentlemanly behaviour!"

* * *

The racket of my _mama_ entering my room was enough to wake the dead. There was no gentleness to her touch, nor an affectionate caress to my brow. There was none of the pleasantries passed between mother and daughter when the latter is sick because in this instance the latter had done something incredibly _vexing_ as to cause _slight_ to the former.

"And what were you thinking, child! Coming here after your sister? You've no business here, certainly not after you offended Mr. Darcy by refusing his offer to dance. I still cannot forgive you on that score either." Mrs. Bennet paced from one end of my room to the other with all the qualities of a caged animal. Lydia, Kitty, and Mary secured themselves to a corner and dare not cross the laid path of their mother.

"Do you not see that by your being here you take attention away from Jane. Mr. Bingley, gentle soul that he is, will feel obligated to cut his time with Jane in half so that you may share his company also. It is all greatly vexing. And you the cause. You and your father have no compassion for my poor nerves."

Had I the strength, I quite believed I would have yelled at her, but I was not in possession of any of my stamina so I simply lay there with my eyes cracked open, waiting for her tirade to come to an end.

I saw that the three girls were desirous of coming to me and I was inclined to have them near me as well, but it would have taken more courage than they had combined to cross Mrs. Bennet's path.

"To think of dear Jane suffering because of your careless actions." She sniffed. "Well, I see that you yourself are not well, but you will recover well enough from the competent watch of your hosts."

I counted how many times she said 'well' in her sentence.

"We have come from Jane and after departing from you we will meet with Mr. Bingley to thank him of his kindness."

I could tell she was winding down and had only to wait a few more minutes before they left me and I would be to myself again. Lydia, Kitty, and Mary all gave me quick smiles before filing out after their mother and I was amused, though not completely surprised when Mrs. Bennet's high voice carried the distance of stairs and corridors, from wherever she was, to my room. I was not able to catch every word, but there was definitely a few that I recognized. Confined and unvarying being among them.

They did not remain much longer, the crunch of their carriage rolling over the fine gravel sounded just below my window and Mrs. Bennet's chatter easily reached me once again in my confinement.

I had already counted all the panes of glass in the window; I had counted all the panels on the walls; I had counted a hundred times over how many patterned bells resided on the wall-paper; and for the life of me I was tired of counting. I wanted out of this room. I wanted to be done with being sick. I wanted to cuddle with Jax...though on second thought he would most likely try to sit on my neck which would do me no favours.

Another thing I had done a hundred times over was wonder what Mr. Darcy was doing right now.

* * *

 **A/N:** There you go. Hope you enjoyed. We'll be seeing Lizzy/Sophie getting out of her room next chapter and perhaps a little confrontation between two somebodies.

As always, feel free to leave a review (believe it or not, I do actually like them). Constructive criticism is welcome.

This weeks question - Out of any period piece, which parental figure would you like to have as your own? Temporary or permanent, you take your pick. I think mine would have to be Mr. Gibson from Wives and Daughters. A nice country doctor as a father would certainly have been more appreciated to Sophie than Mrs. Bennet.

'Till next time.


	6. Chapter 6 Peculiar Discoveries

**Chapter Six**

Very quietly, I unlatched the door handle and peeked into the room that lay behind it. There was a display of fine furniture arranged in a shape close to a circle - a family room, perhaps. The curtains were still drawn closed allowing only scattered beams to filter into the room; chinks of light passed over the furniture, pointing them out and illuminating small patches on the chairs and poufs. Though the room was dimly lit, it still invited cheeriness with the beautiful craftsmanship done on the creamy white walls. Carvings of cherubs ornamented the mantle of the fireplace as well as appearing throughout the room, though elegantly done.

I cast a glance over my shoulder and was assured of no one being behind me before I quietly slipped into the room. It had been two days since Mrs. Bennet and the girls had come to visit and since then Jane and I had steadily returned to our normal selves. My throat didn't scratch as much and I was doing much less coughing, only my head remained slightly thick with dizzy spells and minor headaches. Jane was even better than I and had been permitted to dine with the family last night. She had stopped in my room first to thank me for my concern and then to gently remonstrate me for having done anything so foolish as following her on foot during a down pour.

She smiled as she talked, but I saw the sisterly worry in her eyes as she beheld my sniffling state. I told her that it looked much worse than it was and that I'd be in much better health by the morrow.

My words proved true as I wondered the rooms of Netherfield as any burglar might, though with completely different motives for sneaking. I didn't want to be sent back to my room if I was found out of bed. That, to me, seemed a punishment worse than being put on bread and water for a month. The mattress had molded to my body, the sheets lay too thick across my heated skin, and there was absolutely nothing, not a bloody thing to do to make the time pass faster. I had run out of things to count. I had even finished the books Mr. Darcy had lent me. Hardly any one came to chat with me and when they did I wanted them gone since I couldn't talk properly with a stuffed nose and closed throat.

Therefore, I snuck, and aimed to be quieter than a mouse.

"Achoo!"

I clamped my hand over my mouth and shut my eyes. The sneeze was the type that comes from no where yet releases itself with an explosive, and semi painful, snort. I heard footsteps outside the door pause and I quickly scurried behind a chair and grabbed hold of my shawl that was slipping off my shoulder. Gathering the material into my lap as I crouched, I made sure none of it draped or peeped out from the side of the chair I hid behind.

The door opened and I heard the gait of a man enter the space. If it was Mr. Hurst, he would hardly inspect more than what was worth his time. If it be Mr. Bingley, he'd most likely poke around a bit until he either found me out or decided the noise had come from some other room. If, however, it was Mr. Darcy that entered the room, than I was lost and stripped of my freedom to roam.

The chair I was sheltered behind was, fortunately, one nearly in the corner and with the drapes still closed my skirts would no be distinguishable on the underside of the chair. I heard the steps walk this way and that; presumably checking behind the furniture. That ruled out Mr. Hurst. So Mr. Bingley or Mr. Darcy.

 _'Please be Mr. Bingley.'_

I mentally prayed. The footsteps grew closer then suddenly stopped. I held my breath and kept myself absolutely frozen. A strange flashback suddenly came to me of when I was a little girl and used to love hiding from my mum. I loved the exhilarating feeling of finding that perfect hiding place that was so close to where the person looked though they passed over you. That feeling struck me now with such a force that homesickness rumbled throughout me and I had the strongest desire to see my mum again.

The footsteps brought me back to the present as they walked over to the windows and began opening the curtains.

 _'There goes my perfect hiding place.'_

Light stretched across the room, filling the space with warmth and a glow that I couldn't be completely opposed to. Clutching the hem of my shawl around myself I still held out for the off chance of Mr. Darcy not discovering me. There was no doubt in my mind of who it was that was posing as inspector Clouseau; the other two gentleman would not have stayed this long to uncover who the mysterious sneeze belonged to.

"Miss Bennet, I can see you." His voice rang out like the striking of a bell. I leaned my forehead against the decorative upholstery that framed the back of the chair and groaned at the looming prospect of the room that I would be sent back to.

Tentatively, I gripped the top of the chair with my fingers and rose to my full height - or rather, Elizabeth's, though it was starting to become one in the same. He stood there with a straight brow and closed lips, though _I_ was unable to ignore the humour of the situation. A chuckle burst from my mouth which then turned into a small laugh.

"You have found me out, Mr. Darcy."

As much as his features were marble there was a twinkle in his eye that proved he was not utterly immune to finding amusement in laughable circumstances.

"So I have, Miss Bennet. Was there something of particular interest that drew you to such intimate confines with the chair?" He mocked in the most serious of ways.

"Of course," I answered immediately, still standing in my little corner, "I was hiding from you."

"Me?"

"Well, not you specifically, but whoever it was that came into the room. I only knew it was you when the curtains opened."

"And how, pray tell, did that action make you any the wiser?" He asked as he held out a hand for me to take. I hesitated a second before accepting it. I wasn't sure if he was going to lead me straight to my prison. He did not; instead he brought me to a chair that was positioned more central to the room. He seated himself across from me.

"It was a matter of elimination," I proceeded to explain my reasoning, taking care to word it delicately in regards to the lazy Mr. Hurst. I did not know if Mr. Darcy would take offence at any rude words in association with his friend's sister's husband.

"And as for yourself, I knew nothing but the most thorough inspection would satisfy your curiosity."

I finished speaking and let the silence fill the space. I expected him to respond but he only stared at me for a moment longer.

"A quick study of people, Miss Bennet." He said at last. "Very quick indeed, for you have barely been in Mr. Hurst's company for more than the first night of our general acquaintance at the assembly rooms.

"He was sleeping there wasn't he?" I quickly interrupted. Concern that I had revealed too much of my knowledge plagued me momentarily, although it was alleviated in the next instant when Mr. Darcy smiled. Not a large one by any means, but a very discernibly small one.

"Yes," he acquiesced, "I presume that adds greatly to first impressions."

"I'm afraid it does." I said, returning his smile with one of my own. Our gazes locked for an instant as the merry expressions danced about our lips.

"You still have not told me why it was you were hiding like a scolded school girl." He abruptly asked, taking his eyes from mine and picking at something invisible on his knee.

"You haven't asked me."

"Haven't I?" He looked back up to see the shaking of my head.

"Well, I ask you now."

"As I shall answer you...now." I emphasized. I saw the spark of impatience flit in his eyes and tried not to smile again.

"I was hiding because I did not want to be taken back to my room. I have run out of things to do to keep my mind occupied and wandering about the house seemed harmless enough."

"I suppose I should be glad that your restlessness did not take you outside." Mr. Darcy commented. I grinned.

"Believe me, I was sorely tempted."

He gave me a stern look which I was incapable of taking seriously.

"You are fond of smiling, Miss Bennet." He remarked with a decidedly contrasting expression on his own face.

"Only because it works less muscles than having to frown."

"Is that proven?"

"Yes." I smiled.

He huffed out a slight sigh and turned his head away, gazing absently at the walls of the room as I slyly studied him. Apart from our first meeting at the ball I hadn't had all that much opportunity of shamelessly staring at the hero of my favorite book. He wasn't all that completely real to me yet; my whole life he had been a fictional character that was responsible for waking the hearts of millions of women into deciding that they would wait for _their_ Mr. Darcy. Now the original version sat stoically before me for my eyes' content.

His features were to the time, not modern, yet not pasty like some of the portraits made people of the early 1800's out to be. There was a manliness to him that surprised me a bit. I knew he was always masculine, but the writing of Jane Austen always left me with a very feminine sense of things. Sitting across from the hero, however, I saw that there was barely anything feminine about him.

Currently his brow was furrowed and I had to assume that he was about to ask me something he was unsure about.

"Miss Bennet...do you know a Miss Devon?"

I started.

"Miss Devon?" There was no smile on my face now.

He met my eyes once more and nodded.

"Y-yes," I decided to say. "I am known to a Miss Devon. Why do you ask?"

"When I found you on the lane you had said that you were Miss Devon to me. I hadn't understood what you meant, though at the time I thought it nothing more than you hallucinating; you were on the verge of fainting."

"I do know a Miss Devon. She's a close friend of mine. Though, I don't know why I told her name to you, nor as mine."

"Does she happen to be a Devon of Devonshire?"

"Uh - no," I smirked, "she's not."

"Oh." His brows relaxed some. "I only ask, for I, too, have a friend by the name of Devon who belongs to that family."

"Indeed? Happy chance."

"He will be joining me at Pemberly next year." He informed me. I snapped my eyes up to his.

"He will?"

"Yes, and I meant to bring tidings of yourself to him should he have been a mutual friend."

"Thank you for the thought, but no trouble need be taken." I stood and was immediately shocked to see the lithe movement of Mr. Darcy standing for the sole reason that I was. I took a step back, feeling the back of my knees touching the seat of the chair.

"Are you wishing to return to your quarters?"

A flash of annoyance passed my features which I think he detected, however much I tried to hide it.

"Do I have a choice?"

"You are a guest, Miss Bennet, not a prisoner. I do, however, encourage you not to overtax yourself."

"If I were to just remain here," I proposed, "would you mind?"

"Not at all." He said with frank earnestness as he walked over to a ready desk and produced paper, ink and a quill. He took a seat and set to writing. There was nothing but the scratching of the nib on paper to fill the silence. I stood awkwardly by my chair, unsure of what he was doing. I cleared my throat.

"Is this some abrupt way of changing the subject?" I wondered.

"I am writing to my sister, Georgiana. I believe I mentioned her to you." He said without turning around.

"Yes, you did." I fell silent and cast my eyes about the place for something to do, but this room was proving to be as boring as the one I was trying to escape from. Idly, I shuffled my feet towards the window and looked outside. Trees dotted the ground, giving shade to patches of the very green grass that spread over the expanse of the land. The soil looked dry and incredibly inviting for the purpose of basking in and I longed to run down the stairs and escape into the grounds.

"Have you - " I stopped myself short, cringing a bit when I heard the scratching stop.

"Yes?"

I turned and saw that he was facing me, quill in hand. Shrugging my shawl higher onto my shoulders, I hedged for the string of words I had tossed away as being too stupid to ask. Taking a breath, I spoke, "have you...ever had the desire to just step out your front door and keep walking; with no idea of where you're going or what you might find, but to just walk and discover whatever you come across?" He was staring speculatively at me, making me feel very self conscious, therefore, I bunched up the fabric of the shawl into my hands.

"I believe you refer to life." He said simply.

"I suppose I do." I said quietly almost morosely.

"Do you not find my answer satisfying?"

"No, I can't say that I do." I replied honestly with a small smile. "You answered me figuratively, but I was thinking physically. Though, I suppose you would never have notions of just up and leaving, what with all the doubtless responsibilities you must have." I returned my gaze to the window before he could answer me but I was certain of him still looking at me since the scratching of the quill was yet to resume.

Taking another breath, I broached another topic that I knew he could not answer but one that I felt unsure of asking anyone else. "What if you found yourself in circumstances completely altered; that you feel that you are almost playing a part and are only witnessing life pass before you without fully participating? What answer would you give then?" In the window's reflection I saw him set his quill down as he brought his full attention to myself.

"I would say that life is too precious to be lived as nothing more than a play. Circumstances are, I grant you, varied for each person, though they should be lived to their fullest and not treated as wasted time passing."

I craned my neck to look at him. "I like your second answer better. Thank you."

He bowed his head, although he did not return to his letter. "Is there anything amiss, Miss Bennet?"

I turned fully to him and approached the chair I had previously occupied. "There _is_ something that I wonder at but it is nothing so alarming that you need be troubled by."

"If you're sure, madam."

I smiled my appreciation and he turned back to his letter.

* * *

The day finally came when the health of both Jane and I was strong enough for us to go home. It was almost strange to enter the provided carriage with her after having seen so little of her. The sister snobs were there to bid us farewell, and in their case, most heartily. Mr. Hurst apparently could not be prevailed upon to show such kindness, but all in all he was not missed. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were very well accustomed to their duties as friend of host and host. They each spoke a little to us and wished us fare health with Mr. Bingley jokingly telling Jane and I that should we fall sick again we knew of the most comfortable hospitable in the county. We could not disagree.

"Until next we meet, Mr. Darcy." I curtsied.

"Until next we meet, Miss Elizabeth." He repeated. I rose my brows a hitch in surprise at the use of her (my) first name. He took my hand and led me to the carriage. Jane was ushered in a second after and had a moments more of conversation with Mr. Bingley before the horses started off down the lane and we were borne away from Netherfield Hall.

"I don't think I've ever been so bored in my life." I at last burst, causing Jane to look at me with a curious expression.

"Were you not bored?" I asked of her quite seriously.

"I was too ill to think of being bored."

"But weren't you longing to just throw your sheets off and run about until you were exhausted?"

"I already was exhausted." She countered delicately.

"But weren't you tired of being sick exhausted instead of being exhausted from a good run or something like that?" I tried again.

"I can't say that I was, Lizzy."

I gave up on trying to compare our experiences as we clearly were not of the same temperament. Instead I decided to continue my ponderings on who on earth this Devon was. Two Devons, before unmentioned, in the story of Pride & Prejudice. Who was he? And why was he coming into the story when there's never been any basis of him? The questions that have built since my arrival were mounting heavily as I knew there was none to answer them.

The carriage approached Longbourn and a sudden apprehension took hold of me.

 _'Mr. Collins.'_

I had almost forgotten about him. His preening and simpering were not something I was looking forward to. Maybe there was a way to make clear from the very beginning that there was no hope for him.

"Jane! Lizzy!" Mrs. Bennet's cry startled me out of my dread as the iron maiden came barreling out of the house and towards the carriage. Jane opened the door and stepped out where she was promptly peppered with kisses. I was met with similar enthusiasm.

"Oh, girls, girls! It is so good to have you back home! You must tell me of every encounter you had with Mr. Bingley, Jane. And Lizzy, I am glad to see you better." She had hold of both of our hands and half pulled, half dragged us into the house.

Unsure of what was the proper etiquette to dismiss the coachman, I hastily turned and thanked him for his service. He gave me a startled smile and knuckled the brim of his hat before departing.

"Now Jane," Mrs. Bennet went on, pestering every last word and glance between the two lovers from her eldest daughter that eventually there was nothing more to say on the matter. Mrs. Bennet, however, delighted in going over Jane's words until she had memorized every memory in order of how it happened.

"You will be married by the end of the year!" She exclaimed, happily waving her handkerchief. She had released our arms as we entered the parlour and reclined in the familial chairs, though the Mrs. Bennet was perched on the very edge of hers in giddy excitement.

"Oh! Just think of it Jane - Mrs. Charles Bingley. Ooh! How well it sounds!"

"Mama." Jane implored quietly. I saw her cheeks reddening and could feel her discomfort from where I sat. Some distracting wouldn't go amiss.

"I apologized to Mr. Darcy, mama." I said sharply to make sure she heard me. She did, and an almost sour look took root in her countenance.

"Oh, indeed. For my part, I saw no reason for you to apologize to him. He would not have been a fine partner; his mien suggested gangliness if he were to flit about the room in dance." She sniffed.

"Nevertheless I did," I said, trying not to betray my amusement at her clear disdain; "and he has prematurely asked for my hand for when we should next meet at a ball."

Despite her new found dislike in the man, dear mama couldn't resist perking up a bit at the sound of her second eldest being singled out yet again and in advance by a man worth £10,000 a year.

"Oh, indeed." She said again with a much different tone. "Well, and have you accepted."

I inwardly cringed at the stressful prospect of having to go through a crash course of early 19th century dancing. "Yes, I did." I answered, almost grimacing.

"You could look more pleased about it, Lizzy." Mrs. Bennet scolded.

"I am pleased." I said quickly. "Besides, you were the one who got in an argument with him."

Mrs. Bennet gaped slightly. "I would never reduce myself to such standards as falling into a row with a gentleman of fine stock."

"Mother, I heard you." I said simply. "Confined and unvarying were your very words."

"No, indeed, they were not. They were his."

I rose my brows in a 'told you so' fashion.

"It was not a row, but a genteel dispute of minds."

"Is that what it was?"

"Lizzy." Jane quietly warned. I heeded her and let dear mama have the last word on the matter. It was just as well, for a moment later Lydia and Kitty burst into the room with exclamations that reached the pigeons in the bell towers of the church a quarter of a mile away.

"Girls! Have some compassion on my poor nerves. You tear them to pieces with your shouting."

"But mama, the regiment has come to Hertfordshire!" Lydia gleefully revealed.

 _'Great. Another unwanted character.'_ My thoughts were now concerned with how to avoid Wickham.

"We have come from our aunt Phillips who says they are to remain here all winter." Kitty added.

Mrs. Bennet was now standing with her two youngest; they made a small circle in the parlour with joined hands as their bodies shook with hardly contained excitement.

"Oh, what a fine things for you girls! I remember when I fancied a soldier, Sergeant Henshawe. What a handsome man he was."

"I'm sure our soldiers will be ten times more handsome than your sergeant." Lydia stated with a smile splitting her face.

"I daresay." Was all Mrs. Bennet could say.

* * *

With the regiment in Meryton, Lydia and Kitty were hardly ever to be found at home. They left early in the morning, practically tying their bonnets on as they stuffed their last bites of breakfast into their mouths and only returned when the hour was late and they had enough sense to know that they would be missed. The familiar name of Denny and Sanderson were soon being circulated around the house as regularly as any of the family members' names and I could see that Mr. Bennet was finding shelter in his study more often as his wife encouraged the flirtatious behaviour.

I watched on feeling rather helpless. On returning from Netherfield, I had decided to intervene between Wickham and Lydia. So much had already changed - some things not even by my doing - that I started feeling that the story didn't have to be followed to the line.

I knocked on Mr. Bennet's study door and waited for admittance.

"Come."

The room was well lit with all the drapes pulled open, shedding light on the various titles that lined the bookshelves as well as gleaming across the scattered parchments adorning the mahogany desk.

"Lizzy." Mr. Bennet greeted, not taking his eyes from a book he had held in his hands; very much in the same manner when I had entered his study on the night of the ball. There was no sherry near him, though.

"I am glad to see you restored to us," here he raised his gaze to mine where I was hit with such affection that I felt momentarily overwhelmed. "You scared me, Lizzy." He expressed, putting his book down and standing to rest his hands on my shoulders.

"I'm sorry, father." I looked at the buttons of his waistcoat, feeling shy. "I was worried about Jane - "

"As was I, but you did not see me take up my walking stick and my top hat to venture into the wrath of mother nature."

"No, but father...I am..."

"Younger." He supplied and I nodded mutely.

"Yes you are younger, therefore much easier to be swayed by flighty notions." I looked up to see him quirking an eyebrow at me.

"Flighty notions?"

"Hmm." He tapped my nose and then stepped back to reclaim his seat. I shook my head, refocusing my attention on the reason for my wanting to speak with him.

"Father."

"Yes, Lizzy."

"I think it would be beneficial to have a closer eye on Lydia and Kitty. Especially with the regiment here. They are becoming even harder to control and I fear that no good will come from it."

"Is there a particular incident you have in mind." He teased.

"Father, I'm being serious." I frowned at him. "But if you would like a particular scenario, will this suit? - Lydia running away with an officer and bringing scandal to her name as well as her family's not to mention the money needed to fund such an elopement."

"She is hardly of means to intrigue any scoundrel that comes her way. And as to her bringing scandal - do you worry for your sister, Jane's, sake. I am sure Mr. Bingley is far too enraptured by her charms to notice anything else."

"Father -"

"Lizzy," he held up a hand to quite me, "I appreciate your concern but there is nothing to be done. It has long escaped my powers to check the silliness of your younger sisters and if I did so now there would be no peace."

I huffed and flashed my eyes at him. "You could try." I said walking out of the room, leaving the door opened. I hurried out the front door and down the lane until I had calmed down from my flare of annoyance.

"Ugh!" I griped to myself, striking my fists out from my sides. "Why does he have to be so bloody calm about everything?" I asked of the open air. The sun was surprisingly strong for its being November. I had to shade my eyes with my hand as I didn't bother grabbing a bonnet when I left the house. My spencer was enough to keep me warm enough if I didn't stay out too long, but then I thought better of it as I was just recovering from my cold.

Turning back around, I slowly made my way to the house. If Mr. Bennet wasn't going to get off his lazy arse then I would make it my personal mission to deal with Lydia. I would have to do so slyly, however. She wasn't dim no matter how silly she was. She would know if I was meddling.

The foyer was the same as it had been a few minutes ago when I had stormed out, the only difference was that Mr. Bennet's study door was closed. Cautiously, I tip-toed over to it and pressed my ear to the wood.

I could hear nothing, not a scratching quill nor turning pages so I left it and went in search of the women of the house. It was becoming time for breakfast, thus my search ended in the dining area. They were all seated including Mr. Bennet who gave me no exceptional look as I took my seat beside him where he sat at the head of the table.

We all began eating with only the chinking of cutlery to fill the silence until Mr. Bennet began the conversation.

"I hope, my dear, you have ordered a good dinner today, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party."

"Mr. Bingley!" The foot of the table exclaimed immediately. Her eyes were aglow. "Why, Jane, you sly thing. You never dropped a word!"

Jane had an appropriately confused look on her face as she sought my attention for an explanation of what Mrs. Bennet could possibly mean.

"Oh, and not a bit of fish to be got! Oh, Lord! Lydia, my love, ring the bell. I must speak to Hill directly!"

Lydia wiped her mouth with her napkin and rose from the table, however, she was stopped by her father's statement of, "It is not Mr. Bingley. It is a person I never saw in the whole course of my life."

Lydia gasped from her point behind her mother. "Colonel Forster!"

"Captain Carter." Kitty suggested.

"No, I know, Denny!" Lydia, Kitty and Mrs. Bennet found that rather delightful and erupted into a fit of giggles that could only be sobered by the piercing stare of Mr. Bennet. Lydia abruptly stopped and then returned to her chair.

"About a month ago," Mr. Bennet pressed on. "I received this letter." He brandished it in front of the table for all to see. "And about a fortnight ago, I answered it, for I thought it was a case of some delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins."

I groaned.

"Who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases." He said gravely.

"Oh, my dear, pray don't mention that odious man!" Mrs. Bennet cried. "I think it the hardest thing in the world that your estate should be entailed away from your own, poor, children."

"Indeed, my dear, nothing can clear Mr. Collins of the iniquitous crime of inheriting Longbourn, but if you'll listen to his letter, you may be a little softened by how he expresses himself." And putting on his glasses he began to read. "'My dear sir, the disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honoured father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune to lose him...'"

Lydia interrupted with a very unladylike grunt and snort of laughter, only to be looked at with a most unimpressed expression by her father.

"'...to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach.' There Mrs. Bennet. 'My mind, however, is now made up on the subject..."

I could almost hear the transferring of voices of the 1995 minis-series when we hear Mr. Collins' voice for the first time as he's introduced to the audience. I wondered if he was going to be as slimy and greasy as he appeared on screen. I didn't get my hopes up on that department. He would be arriving at four, so when the clock struck the appointed hour, the Bennets gathered on the threshold of Longbourn to greet our guest.

"And here he comes." Mr. Bennet said, watching the approaching carriage.

"He must be an oddity, don't you think." I supplied, feeling altogether that today was not looking that bright. Lydia and Kitty had already gone and come from Meryton in the time from the letter reading in the morning to the present time, with nothing but soldiers on their minds.

"Well, if he's disposed to make our girls any amends, I shan't be the person to discourage him." Mrs. Bennet reasoned.

"He is not a sensible man, sir." I stated rather than asked. _Father_ glanced at me with a curious countenance.

"I believe you may be right, my dear. Indeed, I have great hopes of finding him quite the reverse." His voice became softer as the carriage came closer and stopped right before us. A head popped out from beneath the covered awning of the hansom cab.

Mr. Collins was just as slimy and greasy as the character on screen and I felt my facial muscles straining not to frown. _'And Mr. Darcy thinks I smile all the time.'_

 _"_ Mr. Collins, you are very welcome." Awkwardly, the clergyman climbed out of the carriage, landing on the gravel with a heavy thud. Beside me, out the corner of my eye, I noticed Mary fixing her hair.

"My dear Mr. and Mrs. Bennet!" Mr. Collins smiled as he bent his body in half in what apparently was meant to be a bow. Upon straightening again his eyes caught sight of something near me and stared for a time longer than what was sociably acceptable. He was staring at Mary!

I blinked and crooked my head from one to the other until Mr. Collins pardoned himself for his momentary lapse of senses and made introductions with all of the family before following them into the house. The two oddballs cast furtive glances at each other as they entered with the others. I, alone, remained outside with a furrowed brow and stared at the now vacant doorway.

"Huh."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, hello. Wherever will that lead to, I wonder. And who is this other Devon? I know I teased at a confrontation, but as I wrote I found that that scene would be upcoming and not in this one. As usual leave a review and tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome.

The question for this week is: if there is one character you would like to tell off (from any period or genre) who would it be and why?

'Till next time.


	7. Chapter 7 Muscle Memory

**Chapter Seven: Muscle Memory**

It was not a normal occurrence for such a level-headed person such as Fitzwilliam Darcy to find himself in constant battle of obtaining control over his thoughts. A ruse or two he might have used, had he thought tricking himself into returning his senses to their once calm and easy state a reasonable ambition. The imaginative eyes that had entered his consciousness the night of the assembly were persistent in their remaining at the fore of his thinking while rendering him partially blind to the goings on of life around him.

Mr. Darcy was not of the nature to shower affection nor was he experienced in being a persuasive lover; but of late he found himself entertaining the notion of riding over to Longbourn. Not to actually gain admittance, however; that was a step too far even for his infatuated mind. No, his idea lead more towards the simple act of circling around the grounds in the chance of the young lady stepping out and their meeting quite by coincidence.

At the end of such imaginings, Mr. Darcy would scoff at his own idiocy, rebuking himself into a chaste mood for the remainder of the day. He believed himself to be discreet in his musings and while Mr. Bingley was in similar straights, Caroline was suffering from no such heartache's that were attached to person's residing in a different house. Her already observant eyes now stuck to Mr. Darcy as a devout worshiper would a holy shrine; following his pacing step measure the length of the room, keeping watch while he stared out the window, and even committing each of his changing expressions to memory as he reclined beside her brother.

It was not very good company at Netherfield presently as nearly all it's inhabitants were consumed with thoughts of people absent either physically or mentally. And with that dilemma, conversation and light-hearted talks were becoming a rarity.

However, this was not the case three miles away. Longbourn, the subject of Mr. Darcy's fancies, was a place of never ending chatter, ostentation and overall feeling of misplaced pomp and grandeur.

* * *

"And I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right and Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards her Ladyship."

"Is it, indeed." Mama simpered at the foot of the table. We all had our dinner served before us and were moving through the courses more speedily than usual. I attributed it to the fact that, like Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Collins had a gift for supplying himself and his wary listeners with an endless bounty of conversation. Though conversation was not the right word as he was largely the only one speaking, therefore the rest of us had nothing to do with our mouths except eat our meals as fast as possible and call dinner to a close.

In all honesty I was hoping for Mrs. Bennet to catch a gleam of his words, fasten on and interrupt him to the affect of going off on a spout of her own; but even _she_ was having difficulty in keeping up with all that the clergyman had to say.

Throughout dinner his attentions had been most pronounced in the direction of neither Jane or myself, but at Mary of all people. The sly looks they had given each other at the door hadn't slipped my notice but it was an impossible thing to happen. Not once in the book did Mr. Collins show the slightest interest in the middle daughter of the Bennet girls. Yet, there he was, sitting directly across from Jane and only speaking to her every other sentence while Mary continued to receive the most animated of his tellings. I wasn't even looked at at all, though I thanked my lucky stars for that.

While us Bennets were nearly done with our meal, Mr. Collins still had a ways to go and I feared that we would all have to suffer the wait of his finishing it.

"You seem very...uh...fortunate in your patroness, sir." Mr. Bennet commented. His difficulty in finding the proper word quite escaped our guest's notice, who was more than happy to re-introduce the great lady's name into the conversation.

"Indeed, I am." He set his glass of sherry down, swishing the liquid passed his cheeks before swallowing. "I have been treated with such affability, such condescension, as I would never have dared to hope for. I have been invited twice to dine at Rosings Park." He paused dramatically, no doubt awaiting praise that would reach to the high heavens. Instead he was met with uninterested silence, a badly done flirtatious smile from Mary, and a rather tardy response from his host.

"That so? Amazing."

Despite my annoyance at Mr. Bennet, I had to hide an amused grin by turning my head.

"Does she live near you, sir?" Mrs. Bennet inquired with the most sedate tone I've ever heard her utter.

"The garden, in which stands my humble abode, is separated only by a lane..." he demonstrated with his hands, holding them apart only a foot from each other; "from Rosings Park."

"Only a lane, eh? Fancy that, Lizzy." _Father_ quirked his brows at me.

"I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?" The foot of the table questioned with the same soft tones that was foreign to her.

"She has one daughter, ma'am. The heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive property." Mr. Collins preached, his voice growing ever louder as he leaned across me to speak with Mrs. Bennet. I could only watch him as if he were some strange creature exhibiting odd behaviour inside a glass cage.

"And has she been presented at court?" Mrs. Bennet questioned. Here, Mr. Collins withdrew somewhat, channeling the character of a bearer of bad news.

"Ah. She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution which unhappily prevents her being in town. And by that means, as I told Lady Catherine myself one day, she has deprived the British court of its brightest ornament." His voice fluctuated from being low to quite high and returning to an almost conspiratory volume as he addressed Mr. Bennet to his left at the head of the table.

"You may imagine, sir, how happy I am on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments, which are always acceptable to ladies." He finished almost smugly. Mary was clearly enchanted but had to curb her amorous feelings to glare at Lydia who had snorted quite openly at her cousin's words.

"That is fortunate for you, Mr. Collins, that you possess such an extraordinary talent for flattering with delicacy." Mr. Bennet remarked as he patted his lips with his napkin and gave me a mischievous look. I tried to ignore him by casting my eyes in the opposite direction, but it was of no use. His teasing tone and gleaming eyes mixed with what I knew he was about to say managed to make me forgive him for his careless parenting.

 _'Their all fictional anyway.'_

"May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are they the result of previous study?"

I giggled softly into my own napkin and caught Jane's eyes. She wore the smallest of smiles herself and had to quickly raise a glass to her lips to remain polite. As had been the case throughout dinner, Mr. Collins was none the wiser to our laughing at him and was seriously contemplating the question presented before him. His face was screwed up in consideration, apparently wanting to choose the best possible words for his answer.

"They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, sir. I do sometimes amuse myself by writing down and arranging such little compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions." He chuckled. "But I try to give them as unstudied an air as possible." He quickly returned, concern writ across his face that he may be exposed at being so transparent.

Mr. Bennet simply smiled and said, "Excellent."

The rest of the evening followed much in the same vain as it did in the novel; Mr. Collins read to us, Lydia interrupted him and he set aside his book which he thankfully did not pick up for the rest of the night. Instead he moved quietly over to Mrs. Bennet's side and began a whispered conversation. I could guess at the subject but not the person it would centre around. He had smiled a bit simperingly at Jane, but their was no mistaking the attraction between him and Mary. I hated to say it, but it was a little creepy.

Everything was calm now; dinner was digesting, the light outside was fading, and their was a warm fire crackling away in the hearth. I was occupying one of the seats closets to the fire, busy thawing my frozen fingers. Central heating was sadly non-existent and I was having a time of acclimatizing myself to the fast growing colder weather. The others made do in shawls and wraps, whereas I had three or four bundled around my shoulders even within the house. Outside was another matter completely; in fact I found it less enjoyable to venture out without layering as much as possible by which time my sisters lost all patience in waiting for me and left. Today had been an exception as the sun had been extraordinarily warm, but with only the moon now, the chill had returned and I was ready to make my skin flame-resistant so that I may sit within the fire.

I rubbed my hands together and looked up at Lydia and Kitty who were rising and bidding us all a good night. Making up my mind, I stood and followed them.

"Lydia, Kitty, can I have a word?"

They shrugged their shoulders and acquiesced.

"Not here." I took their hands and led them to their room. Shutting the door behind them I prepared myself for awkward questions that I still did not know how I would answer.

"What is it, Lizzy?" Lydia questioned with a furrowed brow.

"You're being awfully mysterious." Kitty remarked.

"Am I?" I absently answered. "I don't mean to be." I walked from the door to one of their beds, wringing my fingers. I felt their eyes on me and knew that I must be killing them with suspense of what I had to say.

 _'Just get it out then_.'

"I know this will sound completely mad and strange," I said, facing them, "but I need to ask a favour from the pair of you."

They blinked and nodded, ready to hear what it was.

"Er...well, the thing is..."

"Please Lizzy, we'd like to go to bed." Kitty said after a second of my hesitating.

"We have to go to Meryton tomorrow and it wouldn't do if we were too tired to rise."

I inwardly cringed. "Well, if you are to do my favour it would mean that you wouldn't go to Meryton tomorrow."

"What are you up to?" Lydia immediately suspicioned.

"Nothing," I extended my hands, palms up, to show my innocence. Lydia was not assuaged.

"Look, it's actually really simple. I seem to have forgotten how to dance."

They stared at me. Then at each other. Then back at me before Lydia scoffed. "Even you could do better than that, Lizzy."

"No, I'm serious. I fainted twice when Mr. Darcy found me and I woke up with a pain at the back of my head. Doctor Martin thought it only a headache but it's lingering and I find I have no memory of any of the dances." I invented. They were at least listening to me which I thought was encouraging. I was trying to present as serious a face as possible, though the absurdity of what I was saying was threatening to surface.

"Lizzy, you can't be serious." Lydia half admonished.

"I am being earnest. I do not wish to trouble mama with this as I know it will pass soon enough and I wish to not worry her. Once my cold is fully gone my head will be fine, I'm sure, but I worry that my memory of dancing will not return."

"And hasn't Mr. Darcy prematurely asked for your hand at whatever may be the next dance?" Kitty inquired. I nodded.

Lydia sighed and eyed me. "I suppose Denny can always come here."

"And Sanderson! We'll have dance partners for Lizzy." Kitty enthused.

"Wait," I obstructed her gleeful thought. "I'm not sure we should have people witnessing my younger sisters teaching me to dance."

"No, and I do not want any officers thinking any of my sisters are a dunce - "

"Thanks."

" - it would put them off. No," she tapped her chin, "perhaps Denny shouldn't come after all." She sighed. "Well, I suppose they'll be here all winter."

I smiled. "Does that mean you'll teach me?"

"Yes," she returned the expression, "mind, you'll have to do everything I say."

"Yes, ma'am." I knuckled my brow in a stiff salute. They gave me curious looks and I dropped my hand back down to my side.

"Er...thank you. I'll listen to all your instructions." I made my way to their door and bid them goodnight with a little more hope of not embarrassing myself in front of Mr. Darcy.

* * *

"Now, Lizzy, you're going to link your hands with Jane's and spin in a circle as Kitty and I do the same." Lydia demonstrated; her right hand behind her back, holding Kitty's left hand as Kitty mimicked the pose on the opposite side. Jane and I followed, the former falling into the figure easily, while the latter - that would be my clumsy self - had to walk with her eyes staring at her feet. I felt a complete idiot that I couldn't even spin in a circle without getting confused of what was meant to come next.

I was presently learning the strasbourgeoise cotillion. A lively enough dance that reminded me of American square dancing. There were four partners that spun and wound around each other throughout the figures and seemed fun enough, if only I knew the steps.

I was only at the very beginning; we had just bowed to start the dance. Originally I had only wanted Lydia and Kitty in on the secret, but they had persuaded me that Jane should be included as it would be easier if there was an even number. The eldest Bennet girl had been rather skeptical, though once she heard of my head complaint she expressed her worry and was ready to go and tell mama of it. It took all my persuasive powers to get her to drop it for the time being and to only concern herself in helping me learn how to dance.

"Alright, Lizzy, now let go of Jane and we'll do the same." Lydia instructed. She and Kitty separated as Jane released my hands. I curved my step, aiming for Lydia, but I was so concerned in not messing up that it was unpreventable as I tripped into my teacher.

"Sorry." I said, straightening and fixing the ruffled sleeve of Lydia's frock. She batted my hand away and fixed it herself.

"It must have been a hard fall." She loudly muttered with a huff.

"It was a faint, actually." I mildly corrected. She hmphed as she unceremoniously dropped herself onto the sofa. We were in the drawing room where the furniture had been pushed towards the walls to give us girls an open space in the middle of the floor. Mrs. Bennet had yet to discover us while Mary and Mr. Collins were busy studying Fordyce's sermons.

"I'm sorry." I repeated, standing before the impatient girl. Lydia had her back slumped in an overly dramatic pose. "I know you wanted to go to Meryton today and I'm being difficult."

I saw her eyes peaking up at me through her bristling lashes which softened as her whole demeanour relaxed at my apology.

"Shall we try again?" She held up her hand and I took it. Jane and Kitty were about to step back into position when the door to the room opened, admitting Mary and Mr. Collins.

"What are you doing?" Our dearly, ill-timed sister asked.

I opened my mouth, preparing to reveal my secret to two more persons when Lydia answered for me.

"We're practicing. Lizzy's more excited for her dance with Mr. Darcy then she's letting on."

I didn't know whether to be grateful or miffed at her answer, so I settled for something in between the two.

"Did you say Mr. Darcy?" Our clergyman of a cousin inquired.

"Yes, of Pemberly." Jane answered. "Is he known to you?"

"Only his name. His aunt is the one I claim the acquaintance with. He is the nephew of none other than my most estimable patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I had no idea that he was currently in the country." He grinned with an almost caricaturist gleam. "What happy chances are these. And you say that you have been asked to dance with Mr. Darcy?" He asked most eagerly, his beady eyes lighting on me.

"Yes. There was a little confusion at our first meeting, however, we have since cleared that all away."

"How glad I am to hear it." He nearly expounded. "A very pleasing attention to yourself, Miss Elizabeth, I'm sure. Miss Mary, perhaps you might aid your dear sister by providing music to their dance." Mr. Collins suggested. Mary's eyes practically sparkled at the opportunity to exhibit her playing skills in front of the first man who has attracted her notice. Lydia rose her brows at her sister's willingness in giving us music; I knew she must be thinking that had any of us asked it of her she would have refused with one of her condescending answers.

"And now," Mr. Collin's said as the first notes started up on the piano; "I will stand as judge of your execution and guide you where I see your talents lacking. The nephew of Lady Catherine must not be disappointed."

I reeled. "Sir, I thank you, but I am sure we can manage without turning into a spectator sport."

"Nonsense, cousin. I am happy to offer my assistance, in fact I will stand as your partner; the better to judge the experience that will be Mr. Darcy's."

I looked to each of my sisters with open-mouthed horror.

"You need not be frightened," Mr. Collins said, noticing my unflattering attitude. I clamped my mouth shut and stared bug-eyed at him. "I will not report any mistakes you may make now."

The piano continued to play out a jaunty tune and I saw no way in which to explain to Mr. Collins my current dilemma. My sisters were one thing, whereas the clergyman was the henchman of Lady Catherine.

Shutting my eyes, I nodded. Upon opening them I saw Lydia and Kitty standing next to us while Jane took a seat on the sofa. An amused smile spread across her face as plain as day.

We waited for the song to begin from the top to start the movements. When they came I managed to remember what Lydia had told me for the first turn, but after that I knew nothing. Mr. Collins and I spun and then something happened that took me completely by surprise - I was dancing. Automatically my limbs reacted to the other dancers and the four of us twined and weaved with not an incident on my side. In truth, it was Mr. Collins that had tripped a few times.

The looks of wonder on my sisters' faces could not match the astonishment that I felt. I was suddenly reminded of how I had oddly known the set up of the dining table when I had had my first breakfast in the Bennet household.

 _'Muscle memory,'_ I thought.

Passing Lydia, I gave her a bashful smile and a curious shrug in explanation of my sudden flow of memory. She gave me a toothy grin and I was enjoying the feeling of dancing in the Regency era with no woman telling me what to do over a cackling microphone. I knew the steps, as a sleepwalker knows where the stairs are and how to climb down them. I didn't even mind that my inauguration into dancing was shared with Mr. Collins. For all his blundering, he served his purpose well.

"What's all this?" A joyful, masculine, voice rang out through the room, beckoning everyone's attention and causing the music to stop. There were three men filling up the doorway; two were dressed in their uniforms while the plain-clothed one didn't need the splendid scarlet to draw attention to himself. His features were compellingly handsome that I found myself content in studying him until I realized who he must be.

"Denny!" Lydia exclaimed. "What a joke! We did not hear the door. You have found us quite in cheerful spirits."

"Excuse me, I will inform the missus." Our stout little house-keeper had been quite passed over, despite her standing at the front of the party. Hill bobbed her head and retreated in search of Mrs. Bennet.

"I see now why you nor Kitty could be found nowhere in town." Denny smiled as he walked into the room. The others followed and I saw that the plain-clothed man had his eyes on me. I was praying that he wasn't Wickham - for more than one reason. I saw that I wasn't the only one who had observed the favourable form.

"But I am remiss." Denny gallantly apologized, extending his arm and clapping his hand on the plain-clothed man's shoulder. "Allow me to introduce my friend, and fellow officer, George Wickham. And this other fellow is Sanderson, infamous for his never revealing his first name."

"Ladies," Wickham and Sanderson bowed. The former flicked his eyes on all of us women before stopping on me. I set my jaw.

"And Lydia if you will be so good as to introduce your family."

"Kitty you already know; Mary is by the piano; our cousin, Mr. Collins; Jane is just there by the sofa; and Lizzy, the reason we did not appear in Meryton this morning."

"My apologies." I smiled weakly in Denny's direction.

"Not at all. A sister's duty must not be trifled with." He beamed.

"Indeed." I simply said.

"Well, let us not keep you. You seem to be in want of partners." Denny's offer sent my stomach turning as I watched Wickham approach with a well-played sweet smile on his face. Before he could reach me, however, I turned my attention back to Mr. Collins as Kitty stood up with Sanderson and Lydia with Denny. Seeing that I was not receptive, Wickham approached Jane and asked if she would care to dance.

Mary resumed her playing and we couples shook the drawing room with our stomping and clomping. Once again I was amazed at how my body knew what to do. I stopped my mind from thinking and let feeling take over. It moved me through the dance as fluidly as a fish would wade through a stream; even thoughts of Wickham were put on hold. I didn't know the name of the dance, but that hardly mattered. As long as I didn't look like a fool in front of Mr. Darcy, I was happy.

Mary played the last notes of the song and the couples bowed and curtsied.

"That will be all! Thank you!" Mr. Bennet's muffled shout reached our ears; a twinge of irritability was in his voice. We laughed and broke up into separate parties just as Mrs. Bennet entered the room.

I immediately tuned out her exulting exclamations and took a seat on a chair. She was swift in immersing herself in the youngsters' conversation and I thought I heard mention of a certain Sergeant Henshawe. I kept a close eye on Lydia and who she spoke to. It was mainly Denny, but there were many glances cast at Wickham, though un-returned, they still gave me cause to worry.

For myself, I was acutely aware of Wickham's abundant looks passed my way and was almost relieved when he rose from Mrs. Bennet's side and came over to sit beside me. The sooner I could tell him off and cut off his sob story the better.

"What a charming mother you have." He opened.

I gave him a look.

Chuckling, he settled back in his chair and stuck his chin out at me. "You don't trust me. From the moment I walked in you've been avoiding me. Why?"

I felt my face getting red. I had not thought he would be the one to so bluntly bring to light the less than cordial way in which I had met him. I decided to not let him perturb me.

"I know you Wickham, so before you start your tale of sorrows of how Mr. Darcy wronged you, let me tell you that no one in this family will fall for it. You just stay away because I'll be watching you. Every time you try to pull a stroke I'll be behind you with a big neon sign saying, 'don't trust this guy.'" I channeled Amanda Price and was slightly satisfied to see the confused expression marring Wickham's near perfect brow.

"What is neon?"

"Wait and see." I quipped, turning my head away. I expected him to stand and go away, but he remained and at last he spoke.

"How do you know of my relation with Mr. Darcy?"

I looked back at him and rudely smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know."

His eyes flashed suddenly with a fire that shouldn't have been revealed until the end of the book. Feeling the raw emotion running off of him, I stood and quickly stepped away. I took a spot next to Jane and tried to calm myself, but it was in vain. Throughout the officers visit, Wickham's eyes were on me and I had the sinking feeling that I had said the wrong thing.

* * *

 **A/N:** I would first like to thank all of you who have reviewed and told me your thoughts. I love hearing from you guys - even if it's constructive criticism. And thank you to all who has followed and favorited the story. It does make me smile.

This weeks question is: how would you deal with Wickham if you were in Sophie's shoes?

'Till next time.


	8. Chapter 8 Fiction or Reality

**Chapter Eight: Fiction or Reality**

Since my introductory encounter with Mr. Wickham I had thoroughly beat myself up about how I handled the situation; mentally, anyways. It wouldn't do if I was found by my sisters to be flinging myself about my room, or purposefully tumbling down the stairs. That was of a dramatic flare that I didn't quite live up to.

No, I satisfied myself by torturing my mind and keeping sleep far away during the nights, which resulted in my appearance taking a turn for the worse.

"Lizzy, you do look pale. Are you feeling well?" Jane met me outside my door just as the pair of us were about to descend the stairs to break our fast - as I often heard it being called. I swiped my fingers across my eyes, unsuccessfully removing the sleep from them.

"I am only a little tired." I told her.

"You have been 'only a little tired' for the past five days. Are you not sleeping?" She pressed. I turned my head away from her, lest she see my exasperated expression of being interrogated so early in the morning.

"It must be the weather." I lied.

"It has never been so influential with you before."

"Really, Jane." I snapped and felt immediately sorry for doing so. She paused at the foot of the stairs, looking at me without any reproach, but with the tenderest of sisterly affection. Now I really felt sorry.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to be ratty..." I stopped for a moment as I put together the pieces of words that would satisfy her. At least momentarily. However, before I could pick up my train of thought, Jane reached out and took one of my hands in her own.

"Lizzy, do not seek to comfort me. I may not see the world quite as you do, but I am not a child that needs coddling by her younger sister. I will respect your privacy if whatever it is that is troubling you, you wish to keep to yourself. But I would tell you that should you ever wish to speak of it I will listen with no reservations - as I have always done. Does that placate you?" She smiled at the end as she saw my face adopt, no doubt, a curious one of astonishment.

I closed my slightly open mouth and gulped back a chuckle. "You really are brilliant." I muttered more to myself, though she heard nevertheless.

Mrs. Bennet again had to content herself to merely listening to the never ending spout of (hardly wise) words emitting from Mr. Collins.

"...to be sure, I would recommend nothing less had it not been for Lady Catharine's express desire..."

I tuned him out once mention of the _great lady_ made her appearance in his speeches. In fact, I tuned him out on most occasions and had a sneaking suspicion that even the angelic Jane did likewise. As our cousin left hardly any opening for a change of subject, and as my thoughts were ones I had rather not share with the class, I sat relatively happily in the midst of my pondering of what was to be done with the Wickham problem. I had entertained the notion of telling Darcy, but I was unsure of what level of attraction he was at.

It was a very peculiar feeling - knowing that I needn't worry about the hero falling in love with me. It was written and had nearly 200 years of being absorbed by the public to not be otherwise. Though, a sudden thought entered my musing which arrested my fork for only a split second before I gave up the idea as nonsense. What if Mr. Darcy doesn't fall in love with Elizabeth? Mr. Collins was meant to be chasing me by now, but as my eyes are not yet failing me they must be telling me right when I see he and Mary snuggled in a corner satisfying their appetites with Fordyce's sermons, of all things. Perhaps the same would extend to Mr. Darcy.

 _'No,'_ I told myself, _'Mr. Darcy is a completely different matter altogether.'_ And that was that.

I sighed, pushing my food around the plate until it had done a complete merry-go-round.

It wasn't a question of 'if' but 'when' that was troubling me in regards to Mr. Darcy. What if by the time Wickham and Lydia run off, Darcy hasn't expressed his love. He would then have no reason for entangling himself in this families affairs and Lydia would certainly be lost and ruined, bringing her own scandalous deeds to the door of her sisters. I couldn't imagine Mr. Collins too thrilled with Mary then.

Had these thoughts come to me earlier, when I first arrived in this strange alternate universe, I would have given them half a thought and continued with the ride. They wouldn't have received my full attention as I would have past them off as fictional characters that could endure no harm. But how could that be when I've been living with them for a month and have seen their very real hearts beating out very real emotions. How can I pass them up as being fake and not worth of care?

I had made that mistake with Wickham; he was such the perfect villain that I treated him as one would in a play, where the outcome of the story was secured and the heroine may say anything she wishes without any real danger of a repercussion. This was no story, but real life that happened to be, wondrously, documented by Jane Austen and I would see right by the people these events affected.

I felt my brow stiffen in a firm line above my eyes as my resolve grew with each passing thought. Wickham was a libertine, a rake, a blackguard, any one of those adjectives that describes a man with no moral compass. He was not a phantom that I had to constantly jerk my head around my shoulder to make certain that he wouldn't be found creeping up behind me. He was a man and I had my share of those from my old life.

"Mama," my attention was brought back to the table as a distinctly feminine voice miraculously broke through Mr. Collins's preaching. It was Lydia who spoke and she was telling Mrs. Bennet of her and Kitty's plans for going to Meryton after breakfast. Most mornings that would be common knowledge, but since their favorites of the officers had been to town for a few days they had skulked around the house until the afternoon when they would then walk the path that led to Meryton. It was a much different thing, as I had been soundly rebuked on, not two nights prior.

"Yes, my dear." The foot of the table said without thinking. She was used to doing so and when it came to her two youngest she was especially used to doing so.

I had an inkling,a premonition, a feeling, call it what you will, I had my doubts of this little outing.

"Has Denny returned?" I casually asked, bringing my played with food to my mouth. It was cold and lacked flavour for being so, but I chewed nonetheless.

"Yes, and Wickham. They had been called to London on some trivial thing - I can't remember - though I remember how vexed they had been to have to go. I remember especially Mr. Wickham expressing his wish to have seen you once more before they left." She gave me a sly look and from the corner of my eye I saw Mr. Bennet turn his gaze on me.

"What can he mean." I brushed off. "We've only met the once and I was hardly civil to him."

"Were not you?" Lydia inquired, leaning forward in her excitement of gossip. "For, when I asked him of what the pair of you had been speaking of so cozily in your corner he told me that he would not, on his honour, reveal what one lady told him in confidence to another."

"That's because what I had to say to him wasn't too nice." I retorted, taking a sip of tea as I felt my cheeks turning red with agitation, though I knew Lydia would misconstrue it for a blush. I heard a soft rumbling chuckle come from the head of the table and was assured that this conversation was being listened to, most attentively, by all seated at the table. I was certain of my very own private lecture on how young ladies should respect young men by Mr. Collins if his examining eyes were anything to go by, and Mrs. Bennet left her hand suspended in the air, too preoccupied with ascertaining whether or not her daughter slighted a possible suitor. Mary had only half an ear, the other lay in anticipation for her beloved's next litany of words and Kitty was right there with Lydia. Only Jane listened without looking as if she was. Bless her.

"Come Lizzy, you mustn't be coy with us," Lydia implored, "we're your family."

"I'm not being coy. I've told you, none of what passed between myself and Mr. Wickham was complimentary. Besides, when had you the opportunity to speak with him? I thought he had left for London the next morning."

"They had meant to - " Kitty started.

" - but they decided to take the noon coach instead so that we might wish them farewell." Lydia interrupted.

"How very sweet." I sarcastically cooed.

"You could've joined us."

"To spit more fire?"

Lydia pursed her lips and quirked her brows at me. "Despite your harsh words I do not altogether believe your apparent disdain for Mr. Wickham; he spoke only warmly of you and I fail to see why he would tell tales on something like that."

"Can't you?" I muttered under my breath. I meant for none to hear me, though Mr. Bennet's expression indicated that he might have.

"Why don't you come with us, Lizzy," the youngest Bennet girl invited with the authority of a married woman; "then you may see for yourself in what regards you are held with a certain officer."

As this was what I wanted - to come and keep an eye on things - I did not argue. "I will come, but only to prove to you that you are mistaken in your fancy of star-crossed lovers."

Lydia only smiled at me as if I were some naive child that needed taking under wing.

After breakfast, as those of us prepared for our outing, I heard a knock outside my bedroom door. "Come in."

"Are you decent?" Mr. Bennet asked.

"Father? Yes, I am." I hurried to the door and opened it to see Mr. Bennet standing in the hall. "Is anything the matter?"

"Not at the moment, no," he gave a slight bounce of his heel, his hands were clasped behind his back. "- Uh - I don't mean to sound impertinent, Lizzy, but might I come in. Standing at ones threshold lets in awful drafts."

"Of course." I laughed. I shut the door behind him then pulled back the chair to my writing desk for the comfort of his bottom.

"What's the occasion?"

He raised his brows at me. "The occasion, as you put it, is hardly as festive as you make it out to be." He said, easing himself into the proffered chair. "I come with questions and would have you answer them."

"What sort of questions?" I asked leaning against one of the posts of my canopy bed.

"This morning at breakfast, you made a remark under your breath that reminded me of the same attitude you had when you had come to me, asking for me to lay down the law as it were, so far as it concerned Lydia. Do you remember?" He asked unnecessarily.

"How could I forget?"

"I suppose when you came to me you had this sort of fellow in mind as the one who would do the job."

I nodded.

"I see." He hesitated a moment. I could tell there was something more, but he was being hindered by the unfamiliarity of prying into his daughter's lives. "May I ask _what_ it was that passed between you and this Mr. Wickham."

I thought for a second and decided upon a course of action I hoped would work. "Father, there is more to this story then just Mr. Wickham and myself - "

"You've met him before?" He asked.

"No, but I had heard of him, though I cannot tell you from whom. Their secret is wrapped up in this and I respect them too much; besides it is not my secret to tell. What I can say is that George Wickham is a player...uh, a libertine," I amended; "whose thoughts are for nothing, save how to cheat men out of their money and ruin women in the process. I do not trust him father, nor do I trust Lydia with him."

I saw he was preparing to open his mouth and I knew what he was going to say, _'but she has no money.'_

"It doesn't matter if a woman be dripping in diamonds or cinders for his taste. He has no morals, no principals."

"You anticipate me, Lizzy."

"I am afraid your arguments are predictable." I felt the corner of my mouth turn up into a small smile at his exaggerated expression of defeat.

"You have intrigued me, Lizzy. I do not say I will convict this Mr. Wickham on sight - I still reserve my rights of making my own judgments - but I will take your opinion into account."

"Thank you, father."

He looked at me oddly with an expression I had not seen before. "May I ask one thing more?"

I nodded again.

"What is with this calling me 'father'?"

Of all the things I expected him to bring up, that wasn't one of them. "Oh. Do I not call you father?" I asked rather bluntly. Though he didn't understand my meaning of wondering whether _his_ Elizabeth called him father.

"You do, but more often it is papa; I merely wondered at the change." He looked at me expectantly.

"Er...I don't know really. I can return to calling you papa if you like."

"It's of no matter, just a curiosity." He then rose from the chair and cupped my cheek before passing through my door. His little show of affection brought a pang that I remember having felt before in his company. The comfort of a father was reassuring, even one as indifferent as Mr. Bennet. It pulled me deeper into this new reality, bringing to light how much I had missed the presence of a father in my old life.

Jane would be accompanying us and I was grateful. The support of someone I knew who would believe me for my word was reassuring. Lydia kept chattering about how gallant Wickham looked in his regimentals and how she was sure I would as well. She was only deterred from her ramblings when we entered the quaint town of our destination. It was not my first visit, yet I found it difficult not to get caught up in all the authenticity of regency era life that surrounded me. It was not all that glamorous, in fact it was not glamorous at all, but it was real and that attracted me more than anything else.

The main road, which was the majority of the town, was flanked by homes, shops, and inns all in an array of being quintessentially British. Small groups of women, like ourselves, moved about from one store window to the next with baskets hanging from their arms, while the men ambled about on their own; their steps much more determined than their women-folk, though they were as unoccupied as their counterparts. There was a horse and cart trundling up the road, moving in the opposite direction of a couple of riders who tipped their hats back in respect to the women passengers seated in the open cart.

I smiled at the scene, relishing the living ghosts.

"There! I'm sure that's new since Friday." Kitty pointed and brought us all to stand in front of a window display of bonnets. "Isn't it nice? Don't you think I'd look well in it?"

"Not as well as me." Lydia responded, swiveling her head around to catch sight of the officers. There was a number of them passing presently, though Denny nor Wickham was among them. "Come on!" She proceeded to pull on Kitty's arm to detach her sister's attention from the display, but the older girl was having none of it.

"No, I shan't!" She tugged her arm back to herself and then turned towards Jane and me. "Jane, look at this. I am determined to have this bonnet."

Jane did as was asked of her, telling Kitty it was very nice, but all compliments were forgotten when Lydia said, "Look, there's Denny!"

"Where?" Kitty immediately asked, turning from the window display without a second glance. Jane and I caught the other's eye and grinned.

"There. Look!"

"And it is Mr. Wickham with him."

"Lizzy, do look!" Lydia practically ordered.

"I can see well enough, thank you." I said shortly.

Lydia ignored my tone and went back to looking at the men across the road.

"Denny!" She shouted.

"Lydia!" Jane reprimanded with a sterner voice I'd yet to hear her use. The youngest Bennet girl merely giggled and waved for the officers to cross and join our party. Wickham's eyes lit on me. I couldn't detect any immediate malice in his countenance, though I was sure it was just below the surface.

"What a fine joke." Lydia laughed upon their crossing of the road.

"A well met joke." Denny said. "We were just on our way to see you."

"And we you. How was town?"

"There was nothing of amusement to keep us. Was there Wickham?"

"No, nothing of the charms of Meryton."

Kitty and Lydia giggled, whereas I did my best to conceal the scoff that was threatening to rise from my throat. I wasn't completely successful and had to convert the hitch in my voice into a short cough.

"Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?" Wickham asked with the most sincere tone that one could imagine. I noticed Lydia and Kitty exchange a glance with each other and felt the urge to follow my instincts and tell the man off.

A sudden hand rested on my arm, distracting me from my rising ire. I looked down and saw the neat gloved fingers of Jane. Oh, how good she was for me.

"Thank you, I am very well, Mr. Wickham."

"I am glad to hear it." He smiled.

I grabbed hold of Jane's hand.

"I _had_ thought that I might have seen you before I departed for town, but your sisters told me that you had decided to remain home."

"I did remain home as I saw no reason to see you off, Mr. Wickham. We have met only once before, we mean nothing to each other, and quite frankly - "

Jane squeezed my arm. I faltered, retracting my words and supplied gentler ones in their stead.

" - and quite frankly...it would hardly make sense."

"Make sense?" Wickham questioned broadly, looking at each of us and giving Denny a special smile that reminded me strikingly of the blokes that frequented the pubs near my flat who thought they were the apple of every woman's eye.

"Hmm." I nodded. He eyed me with a glint that I wasn't sure if any of the others recognized, but there it was for all to see if one looked past the superficial charms of his face.

"No. I suppose we'll have to acquaint ourselves more fully before I can enjoy your company."

Jane brought her other hand to my arm.

"I'm sure Lizzy expresses the same sentiment, but shall we walk. We're in the way of the cart just standing here."

So we moved off. Denny extended the use of his arms to both Lydia and Kitty, leading the way, while Wickham offered the same to Jane and myself. I was ready to refuse when I caught sight of Jane's warning eyes.

Grudgingly, I hooked my arm around Wickham's left one and tried my best to keep my head averted from his general direction. It worked for the first three seconds - before he began speaking to me in low tones. I assumed Jane was not meant to hear this portion of his lovely, gentlemanly, charms.

"Any sign of neon?"

"What?" I spun my head around and found his face uncomfortably close to mine. Clearing my throat, I looked straight on.

"You mentioned a neon sign when first we met. You have yet to explain what it is."

"I don't believe I made a promise to explain anything to you."

"Indeed. Not even the more pressing question of how you know of my affairs with Mr. Darcy."

"You're not going to ask how I know again, are you?"

"Not in so many words. There are other ways of discovering secrets."

I couldn't help but glance up at him in shock. "What are you saying?" I questioned dumbly. He merely gave me a fox-grin, an expression that quite detracted from his more winning features.

"And you wonder why I didn't trust you when first I saw you." I tried to take my arm from his but he held onto me firmly.

"I do wonder, yes." He spoke so quietly that even I had to strain my ears to hear him. Jane was probably wondering if there was any credence in what Lydia had to say about us after all. "When I first walked into the drawing room at Longbourn I was being my best self, ready to please the ladies, but when I saw you I knew that you saw through my façade and that intrigued me. What was it that gave it away?"

I didn't answer him, instead I turned my head from his, intending to ignore him.

He tugged me closer, however, knocking me off my balance so that I had to lean against his body to straighten myself. "What are you doing?" I angrily whispered.

He brought his mouth to my ear and lowly growled into it, "you say you know what I am. Would you expect anything different?"

"Yes I would!" I cried, wrenching my arm from his and taking several steps away from him.

"Miss Elizabeth, are you alright?"

I thought my ears deceived me, but there was no mistaking the deep rich voice of Mr. Darcy. I only just realized that I had been stumbling towards two horses that seated Mr. Bingley and the gentleman that had asked after my welfare. I looked up just in time to see the spark of recognition flit between Mr. Darcy and Wickham. They stiffly nodded but neither held the others gaze for above a second; Darcy turned to me almost immediately.

"Miss Elizabeth," he called softer, more intimately. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to go home - my real home. I missed my mum and Jules and sweet Jax. I even missed Dan who would knock Wickham to the ground if he'd seen the man's conduct and my reaction. I'm sure Darcy had the same desire, yet he just sat there, restricted by the rules of his time. So stiff and proper.

I weakly told him that I was alright.

To my surprise, Mr. Darcy dismounted and approached me. "Are you sure, Miss Elizabeth? You seem quite unsettled."

"I believe the lady has already given you her answer, _Mr. Darcy._ "

" _I_ believe I was addressing the lady and not you, sir." Mr. Darcy returned. Denny and the girls finally noticed that something was amiss, so they retraced their steps until they had joined us again.

"What's all this?"

I took the advantage of Wickham explaining the arrival of the two gentleman to whisper something to Mr. Darcy.

"I'm keeping an eye on my sister."

"Your - " he scanned his eyes over our party until they lighted on Lydia. "I see," he breathed.

Mr. Bingley dismounted from his own horse and strode over to Jane, claiming her hand from Wickham's as he asked over her health.

"I am well, thank you."

"I am glad to hear it."

Their conversation was low and quite innocent as a rising tension filled the air between the two men staring daggers at the other.

"We had meant to come and see you at Longbourn." Mr. Darcy suddenly said and loud enough for his friend to hear him. I turned my head to see if Mr. Bingley had indeed heard his friend - he had.

"To inquire after your health." Mr. Darcy elaborated. "Now that we see you, it would be unfortunate to waste this opportunity of walking with you; do not you think, Bingley?"

"Most certainly I do." He agreed heartily as he beamed at Jane.

"If you wouldn't mind?" Mr. Darcy asked directly of me.

I shook my head; more in wonder than anything else.

Though I had witnessed changes to the story, it still managed to astound me when they occurred. If the book had had its way, Mr. Darcy would be riding his horse down the road and as far away from Wickham as possible. But now, he was here, offering me his arm and walking in tow with his enemy.

Denny gave Darcy an odd look before continuing with his stroll, a gal on either side of his arm. I could tell he was curious as to the obvious friction, but he was also not dim enough to ruin a good thing and detach himself from the two youngest Bennet girls. However, one slipped from his grasp and hooked onto Wickham instead.

I lurched forward but Mr. Darcy held me back.

"I just witnessed you tear yourself from that man and now you lunge for him." He and I were just behind Wickham and Lydia, and I felt my brow furrowing dramatically at the sight of them. Jane and Mr. Bingley were following behind us.

"You know very well that I was not _lunging_ at him. I'm trying to keep Lydia away from him." I whispered.

"By interposing between your sister and that man when she clearly sought his company? You would do more harm, presently."

"I suppose you're right." I sighed. We walked silently side by side for a time until a random thought occurred to me. "What happened to your horses?"

"A boy is looking after them."

"I saw no boy."

"Mr. Bingley motioned to him and offered him compensation for the task."

"Oh, I missed all of that." I said flatly.

"You were preoccupied with other matters." He said, glaring at Wickham's back.

"Yes, about that - "

"You do not need to explain anything." He interjected.

"I wasn't. I was going to thank you for stepping in. I - he knows that I know what he is."

Mr. Darcy looked down at me. I could feel the question bouncing off of him as much as I knew he wouldn't ask it; propriety ruled the day.

"You may wonder how I know, I can assure you I discovered quite respectfully; I was told of certain accounts of his, none of them in his favour."

"I know not where you have heard these accounts, but you do right to follow their judgment in being wary of Mr. Wickham."

"I know." I said simply, looking up at him.

A mixture of emotions sprouted up in my heart the very instant our eyes met. The others I no longer saw as characters; they were flesh and blood with fears and desires just as any other living human being. Although, when it came to Mr. Darcy he seemed the most real while at the same time appearing as the most false. How could he be both? I felt a tug-of-war within me, pulling me this way and then that way while my mind bounced between the two. Everything was becoming so muddled, my old life was beginning to turn into the fictional dream, slipping away with every waking hour I spent in my new reality.

What if I never returned? Would I be happy here? Could this man before me make _me_ happy? He's all I've ever dreamed of, all of my standards are based on him; even Dan suffered because of him and Mr. Darcy doesn't even know it. Why would he know it? Sweet Dan, no doubt my perfect match in my old life and he had to suffer because of a fictional character.

Or maybe not so fictional. Here, before me, stood Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, as real and as solid as Dan was. If I was stuck here and the story played out, for the most part, how I know it, would I be happy with the hero? Or would I long for the memories of my past?

My head spun violently with more unanswerable questions as I let Mr. Darcy lead me through Meryton.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you all again for your support and your reviews; you may think it's a little thing, but it really makes my day. So keep it coming :)

This weeks question is: whose your Mr. Darcy? Can be classic or modern.


	9. Chapter 9 Lucas Lodge

**Chapter Nine: Lucas Lodge**

Charlotte Lucas had never made much of an impression on me when I first read Pride & Prejudice. Yes, she was the heroine's best friend besides Jane, but ultimately she was a neat character that got Mr. Collins out of the way once Elizabeth rejected the man's offer. He couldn't have returned to Rosings Park in high dudgeon, and Charlotte was a means of pacifying his male pride. For all that he is silly, I'm sure that emotion exists somewhere in the depths of all his pomp and grandeur.

Since my being in this strange existence, my opinion of her hadn't much altered, though I was somewhat surprised on entering the house, from one of my walks, to hear news that all us Bennets had been invited to Lucas Lodge.

"And you can be sure that Mr. Bingley will be there." I absently heard Kitty say in jest to Jane.

"I'm sure it would be more to the Lucas's credit if they invited some of the officers." Lydia let the statement fly from her mouth as she scurried past me and up the step that led to the hall. The kitchen was not usually so inhabited and I could see that Hill was not ideally fitted to having to maneuver her rather large frame around four girls in confined spaces. With Lydia's flight from the premises it did allow some air to flow about.

"What's this about Lucas Lodge?" I asked, untying the ribbons of my bonnet.

"We have been invited for an evening." Jane passed me the invitation she had been reading and I scanned my eyes quickly over the neat scrawl. It wasn't by any hand I was familiar with, but it was decidedly feminine in all it's small curls and turns of the letters. Though, since my experiencing 19th century life, I had seen Mr. Bennet's handwriting and couldn't say that his was entirely without flare.

"For the 17th. And shall we go?" I held the paper for her to take it, but it was snatched up by Kitty instead.

"The 17th, but - "

She stopped short and cast a darting glance around her before composing her face.

"But...?" Jane urged.

Kitty blushed as she folded up the paper and returned it to Jane. "I had thought for a moment that the date of the evening was shared by a prior engagement I had with my aunt Philips."

"Would you like us to make your excuses?"

"Er...no...I think it better not. Excuse me."

She scurried up the same step Lydia had and vanished with a swish of her skirts down the hall.

I noticed Jane look after her with the same sisterly concern she was prone to showing me whenever I behaved oddly; which was more frequent lately - at least I can only assume.

Hill began humming a cheery tune to herself - a show of relief, probably, of almost having her kitchen back to herself. However, I had no desire to quit the cozy room just yet. Of all the rooms that made up Longbourn, the kitchen was my favorite. I think it was because, despite my coming to terms with realizing that the Bennets were real people and not just characters, I still found it strange at times; and in the kitchen, with the servants, who were never anything more than names on a page that popped up every so often, I heard talk of things that had never been introduced before. It felt truly like meeting new people with full lives and histories, all leading them to the Bennet household.

I sat down opposite the industrious Hill, where she took a moments pause in her kneading of the dough to place down in front of me a slice of bread with a slather of jam and honey on it. What had become habit now over the last month of my taking a daily walk and returning to a ready snack made by Hill, had obviously gone unnoticed by the rest of the family.

"I see." Jane smiled to herself, taking a seat next to me. I quirked my brows at her in question as my mouth was stuffed with food.

"I had wondered lately where it was you were hiding."

"I'm not hiding." I swallowed. Hill passed me a hot cup of tea which I used to chase down the stickiness in my pallet.

"Everyday you vanish near this time - "

"Only my walk." I said before taking another bite.

" - and do not return for what feels like hours."

"You exaggerate." I said mutely, trying not to show my chewed food.

"And at last I have discovered your secret," her voice was light and teasing; "and shall have the very great pleasure in exposing you to the rest of the family."

"I've become a local mystery, haven't I?" I grinned.

"Exceedingly so," her voice developed a hint of seriousness; "and I fear it is not all in your favour. At least, you would not think so. Lydia continues to hint at more than cordial relations between yourself and Mr. Wickham."

"Hmph."

The low snort came from Hill who was apparently not as consumed by her task as she looked. She was well aware of my disdain of Wickham and through my own telling of his character, she had grown to build her own prejudices against him. The more people aware of his true self the better, I reasoned.

"Does she?" I had to take another sip of tea as my voice had that quality of thickness that one gets when eating something exceptionally gooey. "I hope it is only at home that she does this."

"I cannot say. When I heard her speak so I told her not to spread such gossip, but whose to say what she might do when she and Kitty are on their own."

I sighed, "that's my growing concern."

"They are harmless enough." Jane said with a brighter voice. Her face lifted at the corners, her smile adding to the warmth already in the room from the crackling fire in the hearth. "Besides, no one who knows you would believe what Lydia or Kitty say in their idle fancies."

"It's not that that worries me."

"What, then?"

"It's her afeared of that rake cummin' to take away the young missus." Hill grunted from behind her rolling pin, content to leave it at that with no further explanations to her sudden burst of speech.

I raised my brows at her interruption, simultaneously feeling cross yet amused.

"Who do you mean? The young missus?" Jane asked, looking between me and the industrious Hill. "Do you mean Lydia?"

"Yes." I answered, giving Hill's bent head a stern expression. "I don't like Mr. Wickham coming here. I don't like him at all really."

"Are you sure proclaiming such a definitive judgment on a persons character without knowing their full circumstance is wise?"

"It would be foolish if we were to take him at his every word and make no judgment of the character that he shows us. Surely you did not approve of his telling tales about Mr. Darcy on his last visit."

"Well, no," Jane agreed, "indeed it was very troubling to hear the stark accusations Mr. Wickham laid at the gentleman's door. Still, I cannot believe that Mr. Wickham is truly vicious; he may be misguided or confused of the events of which he speaks and can only name Mr. Darcy as the villain as he was the son of Old Mr. Darcy, but I would doubt that such an amiable man as Mr. Wickham would willfully deceive a respectable family. For what purpose would he seek the slander?"

"For the purpose of exacting revenge on Mr. Darcy!" I retorted, exasperated and not a little too softly. Hill pointedly cleared her throat from behind her rolling pin with a queer turn of her lips as Jane's eyes widened for a second as she observed my face. Feeling a sudden heat blossom on my cheeks I returned to my plate and filled my mouth with a large bite of bread, jam, and honey and chewed it silently.

Jane, thankfully, did not indulge herself in the question that was branded as plain as day on her forehead, instead she made a short, noncommittal remark about Wickham, one that I didn't catch due to my over eagerness in swallowing the large mouthful.

"It's a bit strange that the Lucas's sent an invitation rather than coming and asking in person." I commented, partly for a diversion from my outburst and partly out of earnest curiosity. Unlike the novel, there had not been a party at Lucas Lodge in which Mr. Darcy appreciated Miss Eliza's _fine eyes,_ and I had begun to wonder if there would be one at all.

"I believe that this is not quite the ordinary gathering they are hosting. The Netherfield party will be in attendance, therefore Sir William and his wife have endeavored to do everything properly. Though, I deem it likely that Lady Lucas and Charlotte will call today as they know mama's temperament nearly as well as ourselves."

"'Nearly' being the operative word." I emphasized, finishing up the last bite of my bread. "I'm surprised at not hearing a full charge against our neighbors' character ringing through our halls."

"She has not been told yet, and Lizzy, you should not tease." Jane scolded lightly.

"Shouldn't I?" I raised my brows in a mischievous manner, giving my sister a twinkling grin.

"No, you should not." She laughed, releasing a smile of her own from the hardly stern features.

"I see. I am to be a good Miss Elizabeth, who does what she is told - no matter what! - and not to make fun of poor, dear, mama. In other words - to be deadly, deadly dull." I finished in my regular voice, whereas the top of my little speech had been spoken in that of a baby's voice. I jumped from my perch and performed a small pirouette before dropping into a bob of a curtsy.

"Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week." I bowed.

"Lizzy! What are you doing!"

I raised my head to see a pair of astonished faces looking at me with a comical mixture of confusion, slight horror, amusement, and dare I say delighted entertainment.

"Oh, Jane," I said exasperated, rising to my full height; "have you never had a silly mood? I know we are _ladies_ , but can you honestly tell me that you have never, not once, had the desire to cartwheel across the lawn, or do a somersault, or something? Answer me honestly and do not feel the need for discretion in front of Hill; she's my eyes and ears, she is." I gave a curt nod in the good lady's direction which she accepted with a nod of her own. Jane watched the exchange with a sweet sort of befuddlement.

"Eyes and ears?" She quietly wondered aloud.

"It means she informs me of all the latest gossip; of what she hears and what she sees. Hence 'my _eyes_ and _ears_.'" I explained. Almost identically of how I had worded it to Hill when I first began seeking her favour for all the ins and outs of this world.

"Ah'm never one to ask where thou learns what thou knoowas, but Oi'll say this, er's a funny un." Hill spoke once again from behind her rolling pin in her peculiar speech of meshing her native Mancunian dialect with the ways of the South she had picked up after having lived in the region for a quarter of a century. That was another thing I had never even wondered at when reading Pride & Prejudice, but of course the characters had to come from somewhere.

"You're quite right; where I learn my oddities is my business, but don't let's get off the topic of warranted silliness."

"I think we better had," Jane spoke quietly as she slid off her chair. "I hear mother's step."

"There you are!" She exclaimed with a huffy breath, giving the impression she had climbed Everest and back in search of us. Jane and I stood before her in a neat display of daughterly dotage - if a bit sarcastic on my side - waiting for whatever it was she had traversed the wilds of the Longbourn corridors to come and tell us. Hill set aside her rolling pin and set to the chopping of the innards of what was promising to be a pie. My stomach lurched in anticipation.

Mrs. Bennet was quickly coming round and a pink blush was spreading fast from her cheeks to her neck as she willed the words to depart from her panting lips. She must have been searching for us for quite a time.

"You must go up directly!" She spoke to Jane. " _Mr. Bingley_ is sitting not five minutes in the company of your father and I daresay it was not the gentleman's intention of being entertained by Mr. Bennet when first he rode out! Make hast, my dear, make hast!"

Jane passed her mother in a blush and flurry and Mrs. Bennet was preparing to do likewise when I caught her arm. "Is Mr. Collins with them?" I could not keep the laugh from my voice, nor the smile from my face and though _mama_ cast me a stern look, she too saw the ridiculousness of her husband's cousin - though she would never admit it.

"You would do well to remember Miss Lizzy that Mr. Collins is the only means in which to secure this house for you and your sisters when your father is dead."

"Oh, such a gloomy topic," I kindly smirked, passing her; "for the middle of the day."

Once again she was preparing to follow her daughter when, again, I stopped her by turning around. "Is Mr. Darcy here too?"

"Where Mr. Bingley is, so too is his friend - I regret to say - but so it is and I shall say no more on the matter except that whoever be a friend of Mr. Bingley is welcome at Longbourn...even if he is an insufferable representation of a gentleman." Mrs. Bennet finished off muttering.

"Mama, I thought you were warming to Mr. Darcy?"

"And so I am, Lizzy, but that's not to say that I have to approve of him with the changing of the moon to the sun."

"More in the way of _several_ changes of the moon to the sun."

The blush that was dominating Mrs. Bennet's face and chest deepened and her eyes took on a darting quality that only added to her flustered state.

"Will you bring yourself up to the parlour, they wait for us!"

"They wait for Jane." I corrected." Though I suppose you are desirous of spying on the two lovebirds." I said as I walked. I felt the eager tread behind me as a palpable release of tension relinquished its hold on the iron maiden of the time.

"Lizzy, you are becoming quite course in your language."

"Is what I say false?" I asked over my shoulder.  
"...Well...no, nevertheless, refrain from promoting like words as 'lovebirds' from your vernacular when using them as representation for your sister and a gentleman of her acquaintance."

"May I use the word 'lovebirds' when witnessing actual lovebirds?" I airily asked. My mocking tone was not missed as it was not meant to be hidden. We had reached the door to the parlour, yet we stood on the threshold for a moment longer.

"You do try me, Lizzy!" Mama loudly whispered. I could see the agitation vibrating off her body and took sudden pity on her. She was written comically and that's how I viewed her, but as with everything else that had been transforming around me, I saw Mrs. Bennet in a different light. She was still comical and flighty, but she was no longer ridiculous. Her fears were real and well preserved, especially now with the constant reminder of Mr. Collins marching about the house with the air of settling to size. Mr. Bingley was more than just a mercenary opportunity, he was a life, and a good one; and now knowing Jane on the personal level that I do, I could hardly begrudge Mrs. Bennet for pushing her most beautiful daughter in front of the rich, eligible, bachelor that was Mr. Bingley.

"I'm sorry. I was being foolish."

"Yes, you were." She snapped, although her eyes swiveled to mine to see if I was being sincere. I was. I gave her a smile and turned the handle.

"Oh, I thought it best you know first; the Lucas's have sent an invitation for our presence at the lodge on the 29th. The Netherfield party will be there." I hurriedly whispered to her. She received the information with bug-eyed astonishment and then narrow-eyed belligerence.

"Ah, Lizzy, you decide to join us at last, I see." Mr. Bennet announced as soon as I entered the room. He sat in his usual chair by the hearth, which crackled away in its pursuit of warming the inhabitants, much like its twin in the kitchen. His spectacles were placed precariously on the bridge of his nose, alluding to his having been in the progress of reading. The remainder of my evidence to that theory was the paper folded neatly on his little side table where it was accompanied by Mr. Bennet's preferred glass of sherry. The sisters of that glass were in clear view in the hands of Mr. Bingley, Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy's. My eyes went to that gentleman's for a split-second and was met by his steady gaze. I looked away and found refuge from the intense stare in Mr. Bennet's old and kindly face.

"Deciding had nothing to do with it," I responded, sitting beside the fair-haired lass in white, whose blushes matched the pink ribbons adorned on her dress. Mr. Bingley was only half listening to what I had to say - if even that. "I had not been aware of company until mama had discovered Jane and myself in the kitchen."

Mrs. Bennet gave such a sharp jerk of her head in my direction that it was impossible for me to miss the pointed glare being sent via air waves in my direction. I quickly caught the misstep and elaborated.

"I had been out for my walk and returned to the kitchen where Jane knew to wait for me."

"How very considerate of her." Mr. Bingley beamed.

"Incredibly." I added.

Jane acknowledged such praise with a bend of her neck and a fastidious interest in the shape of her curled fingers. Her exposed dimpled cheeks, however, hinted at the smile she was hiding.

"Daily walk?" The deep voice that I was beginning to associate with a phantom in its increasing ability in provoking gooseflesh over the length of my body, asked. I raised my eyes to his once more and nodded.

"Do you doubt it?"

He recognized the playful glint and I wondered if his mind had returned to that conversation at Netherfield when he remarked that I was overly fond of smiling, for presently, one was pushing the corners of my lips.

"I have no reason to doubt it, indeed I assume all here know of your capabilities in walking _and_ in any weather."

"Not in any weather." I responded. "I had to pay for challenging mother nature, as it were."

"A fair warning from such an exhibition again." Mr. Darcy reasoned. I couldn't tell if he was silently goading me or if he was expressing true concern for my health. Maybe a bit of both. With the advantages that I had of already knowing Mr. Darcy's nature, I knew he was not being a snob. In fact, there was a sober glint of his very own in the very corner of his eye.

"Very fair. Are your sisters and Mr. Hurst not with you, sir?" I abruptly asked Mr. Bingley. He had to do a double take to make sure that he was being addressed. When he had made all the appropriate guesses that, indeed, his attention was required from turning away from Miss Bennet for a moment, he did so bravely and even with a merry turn of his head towards me.

"No, they are in town; left just this morning." Mr. Bingley obviously thought that that answer would be all that was needed of him and was in the process of returning his doting gaze back to Jane, when I asked, "town? Are they staying there permanently?"

 _'Please say yes.'_

"No, they return tomorrow evening; just in time for the Lucas's party. You will be there, won't you?" The besotted man asked of Jane.

"Oh to be sure!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. Equal enthusiasm was elicited from Lydia who had, until now, sat uncommonly silent in a chair by the window. It was a rather odd picture to see her in that attitude. Mary sat between her mother and Mr. Collins, indulging in separate conversations with the clergyman from time to time, but usually it was Lydia that was prone to side conversations, or if that didn't suit, domineering the whole entire conversation and steering it whichever way the wind blew.

I wondered if something had happened. My thoughts immediately jumped to Wickham and wondered if she and he were plotting something as early as this. Half the events hadn't occurred yet, but I wasn't allowing that to comfort me. Throughout the quarter of an hour, a propriety I had recently learned as the appropriate amount of time to call on friends and neighbors, I watched Lydia in as discreet a manner as could be managed. Kitty was absent from the interview.

The droning tones of Mr. Collins deadened my senses further to the string of talk and I lost it completely at one point. Lydia's face was not bursting with hardly contained news as I would expect it to look if there was really any silent plot taking shape. There was no fast rising of the chest, or uncalled for smiles and giggles. Rather, there was a touch of melancholy about her that I couldn't understand.

I was shaken from my musings by the loud call of my name. Looking up I saw that it was Mr. Collins who was hailing me.

"I was just telling Mr. Darcy that Lady Catharine, his _aunt_ , is in fine health and has recently acquired an iron fire-shovel with a most pleasing design of cherubs on the hilt of the instrument."

"Oh." I nodded broadly, an exaggeration so as to please the pompous clergyman. I caught the nephew's eye and saw the sober glint grow a little merrier.

* * *

When the delicate arms had struck the quarter hour mark on the clock above the mantle and the musical chimes had emitted from the tuned chambers, the gentleman had risen from their respective places and thanked the Bennet's for their hospitality.

"Do come again!" Mrs. Bennet cried after their retreating forms, high on their horses.

Mr. Bingley raised his hand in farewell, hopefully glancing back.

"Is she there?" Mr. Darcy asked of his star-crossed friend.

"Yes," Mr. Bingley smiled, "with her sister."

Involuntarily Mr. Darcy started as if he too would join Mr. Bingley in a parting glance, but he caught himself before executing the action.

"Miss Elizabeth?" He asked instead.

"Yes." The besotted man answered again.

"Charles, do look where you're going." Mr. Darcy said, reaching over to take control of the forgotten reigns in the loose grip of the smitten man's hands. Master and horse were very near to turning left at the fork in the road rather than right.

"I doubt you can even see her from here." Mr. Darcy added with a touch of exaggeration to his voice.

Mr. Bingley wistfully sighed, resuming ownership of his reigns. He clucked and pulled until his horse was even with Mr. Darcy's and then let the horse walk in a leisurely fashion.

"She is the most wondrous, beautiful, angelic..."

"Mind you don't run out of adjectives before reaching Netherfield."

"It's not likely. Darcy, if only you knew what I was experiencing; the rush that courses through me as soon as she stands before me. Even before she stands before me - if I call her to mind I am transported to a mimicry of what it is truly like to be in her presence. Which only then urges me fiercely to desire her true presence. I cannot explain it; you do not know. You do not know."

If Mr. Bingley had the ability to not be so self-absorbed in his own trials of the heart, he would soon recognize in his friend similar pangs, and shortly after he would realize that Mr. Darcy did, in fact, _know_. Of all Mr. Bingley had expressed was a mirror image of what Mr. Darcy was silently struggling with. However, he could not bring himself to divulge his secret to any, not even his closest and most-trusted friend. It was something precious that he did not quite understand, and because of his lack of comprehension he found it inadvisable to share with any the workings of his heart when he did not have firm control over it.

He had watched Elizabeth almost as intently as she had watched Lydia and he had noticed her fascination with her sister. He wondered at it and had quickly attributed it to their meeting in Meryton with Mr. Wickham. She had been worried then and was most probably worried still. Her knowledge of Mr. Wickham intrigued him; he was curious as to which of that scoundrels countless victims had also arrived in Hertfordshire to have informed on him.

Elizabeth was right to watch over her sister and silently, almost imperceptibly so that Mr. Darcy was hardly aware of making the agreement with himself, he promised to do likewise for the girl that had been his sister's age when the serpent had set his eyes on its prey.

* * *

"Lizzy, close your mouth and do try to control your yawning." Mrs. Bennet scolded me as we Bennet's alighted from our carriage in front of Lucas Lodge. It was bigger than Longbourn and had a hint of modest grandeur that I took as a nod to the knighthood of Sir William. All in all it was a very handsome house and one that I would not immediately associate with Charlotte. There was something romantic in the shutters half veiled by the vines of greenery and roses.

"Mama, I was up since five this morning and haven't...rested since." My complaint was interrupted by a yawn that Mrs. Bennet took further offence at.

"It is no fault of _mine_ if _you_ insist on rising at unmentionable hours of the day."

"I did not _insist,_ I woke naturally and saw no reason to lay about if I could not fall asleep again. And five o'clock is hardly an _unmentionable hour of the day._ "

"It is if you persist in yawning throughout the evening."

"If that's bothering you, just wait until Kitty starts winking at you." I muttered as Mrs. Bennet took a step in front of me to enter the Lodge on the arm of her husband. I suspect none heard my comment and I persuaded myself it was for the best, though I couldn't deny the laugh it would have given me of Mrs. Bennet asking 'what in heaven was I talking of.'

I giggled just at the thought of it.

"Mr. Bennet! Mrs. Bennet! Capital! Capital!" The booming voice of Sir William reached me before his rotund self did. I smiled at the likeness to his alter-ego version of himself.

"Miss Eliza! How good it is to see you, and Miss Bennet, and Miss Kitty, Miss Lydia, all welcome and glad! Miss Mary! Capital! Capital! And you must be Mr. Collins! Well done!" Sir William pronounced it as if the clergyman had a say in being Mr. Collins or not. "We've heard much of you and all good!"

I took a moment to witness the introductory exchange between the two men who, it appeared, were becoming less and less likely of forming the bond of in-laws. "What a room you have here, Sir William. It puts me in mind of a small ante-chamber in Rossings Park..."

"And he's off." I said to myself, turning away from the pair and moving deeper into the room. Faces I had come to recognize spotted the sofas and ottomans of the warm room. There was more than one fire burning away in the hearths that opened into the cozy space and I saw that there was no cramming as close to the burning cinders for the heat. Everyone was spread about and in comfortable groups chatting, gossiping and all the other customs that were demanded of a country gathering. Mrs. Long was already in a deep discussion with mama and I had no trouble guessing at what as they were both none of them spies and continually darted expressive looks to Mr. Bingley who had made a bee-line to Jane as soon as we had entered the room.

I shook my head at their obviousness and moved on. There were officers in uniform all about the room and I dreaded that Wickham would be present, however after a sweep of every gentleman in a redcoat, I was assured of his absence. I wasn't really in the mood for talking and if I sat down, which was all I really wanted, I would be pulled into a conversation that was occurring near my elbow. So I walked about, making a couple of rounds about the room as well as attracting the attention of the iron maiden who motioned for me to sit down. As I was not the only one standing I did not feel as if I was a tree in a forest of shrubs so I pretended that I did not understand her and quickly passed where she was stationed. On my third round I felt a prickling at the back of my neck as if someone was watching me. I looked about, smiling as I did so to the people that I passed, but saw no one that was a likely culprit.

I felt a yawn coming, so I quickly turned and covered my mouth with my hand. Another came immediately after and I felt my legs begging me to find somewhere to sit and perhaps inconspicuously lie down.

"Eliza, why did you not come to me. I waved to you." Charlotte startled me out of my slumbering thoughts and jolted me suddenly awake. I knew it would not last more than five minutes though.

"I'm sorry, I did not see you."

"Here, come sit, you look exhausted." She led us to two vacant chairs that I gratefully filled with my lazy legs. If I was forced to talk, Charlotte was at least familiar.

"It has been a long day."

"I see." She nodded. "We have not seen each other in a while, I think." As tired as I was, I thought I detected a question somewhere in that statement.

"True. We have not. Are you angry?" I asked bluntly. Charlotte looked startled at my direct approach, though she laughed with appreciation.

"No, I am not angry. Perhaps only jealous."

"Jealous? Who of?"

"Miss Bingley and her sister of course." She said, nodding in the sister snobs' direction. Their haughtiness had not diminished since last I saw them, nor did their plain attempt of barely cordial civility.

"Miss - , why?"

Charlotte stared at me as if I was asking a simple question. I could only stare back in confusion. At last she gave me the reason.

"You have clearly been enjoying their company since Jane and their brother have grown so close."

"Wherever did you hear that?" I furrowed my brow.

"No where in particular, but Mr. Bingley and Jane have become closer, have they not?"

"They have, but I don't see how that automatically means that I'd be bosom friends with his sisters. In all frankness, I can't bear either one of them, nor Mr. Hurst."

"Well, that's shown me my foolish ways." Charlotte pragmatically reprimanded herself. "Then why have you been so elusive these past weeks. Whenever Maria and I call you are either out or can't be found."

"Am I," I laughed, finding humour in the knowledge that most likely the times I couldn't be found were times spent in the kitchen with Hill and that even my family had no clue as to my whereabouts. "I only was out for my walk, but if my timing is bad for you I'll change it."

"You don't have to be so extreme."

"I do if you are apt to become jealous." I larked.

"Eliza."

"Charlotte."

"We shall set a time and meet at that time. A place as well." She instructed.

"Very well. Name both."

"What do you say to the o'clock being three and the place being Longbourn?" She supplied.

"I say, 'yes' and, 'yes.'"

"Good. Now answer me this."

"Anything."

"Why has Mr. Darcy done nothing but stare at you from the moment you entered?"

I felt my smile falter as I instinctively looked around in search of the gentleman in question. Piercing eyes would account for the prickling I had felt at the back of my neck.

"He's looked away now." Charlotte said. I followed the line of her gaze and finally saw Mr. Darcy standing on the opposite side of the room, half concealed by an architectural protuberance of the wall into the room.

"How long was he staring?" I asked softly.

"From the moment you arrived, as I said."

"As I said." I thoughtlessly repeated.

"No, as _I_ said." Charlotte corrected.

"Oh, that's right. Sorry." I shook my head trying to dislodge the tiredness that was fast returning, strengthened by the confusing emotion Mr. Darcy and his intent eyes presented.

Beside Charlotte, two others joined our party, a Miss Flack and her younger sister, Miss Judith. I believe I was civil and responded when spoken to, but my eyes were beginning to shut of their own volition as most of the talk was between the three. Just sitting was bad for staying awake.

"Excuse me." I politely excused my self. I knew I was about to fall asleep where I stood; I couldn't understand the exhaustion that was enveloping my entire being. With as much stealth as I could manage, I made it to a door and checked to see if it was locked. It was not. A last glance at Charlotte informed me that she had been snared into serious deliberation with the Miss Flacks on stocking or petticoats as the most advisable purchase. That was, at least, the last strain of conversation I had caught before taking my leave.

Unnoticed, I slipped into the empty room and shut the door. It was much colder, but my feet barely cared as they took me to a welcoming chaise-longue and collapsed on the cushions. I was asleep in an instant.

* * *

 _"You can't come tonight." I warned with a giggle, completely failing in sounding authoritative. "You have to go to your dinner. You haven't seen Charlie in ages."_

 _"I haven't seen you longer." Dan insisted through the telephone receiver. He sounded breathy, as if he were walking outside._

 _"That's a flat out lie." I laughed, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder as I poured out the hot water into my waiting mug._

 _"Never mind if it is - I'm coming."_

 _"No, you're going."_

 _A loud rap at the front door startled me and I nearly dropped the kettle. "Hang on!" I called to the door, wiping my wet hand on my my trousers. I hurried out of the kitchen, telling Dan to hold on as I turned the latch._

 _"I'm coming." He clicked the line off, looking at me the whole time and then surged forward. I was in his arms and he was in mine and poor Charlie was utterly forgotten._

 _"You'll have to phone him." I later told Dan as we lay covered on my bed._

 _"Who, Charlie?"_

 _"Hmm." I hummed._

 _"He already knows. I phoned him before coming. I said I had an urgent meeting with work."_

 _"He didn't believe that." I half asked, half stated, turning on my stomach to face Dan. He moved his arm and rested it on my back._

 _"And why shouldn't he? I'm not prone to lying."_

 _"Is that so?"_

 _"Mm-hmm. Would you like to test it?" I suspiciously grinned, unsure of what sort of test he had in mind._

 _"Well, if you won't ask me anything I'll just have to make a statement and you'll have to see if I'm lying or not." He sat up a bit, clearing his throat. "Soph," he started, cupping my face and looking down at me; "I love you."_

 _My first reaction was to hiccup a laugh, but I stopped short, realizing that he was being deadly serious. I pushed myself up and off his lap so that I might be even with him. I searched his eyes and still found no trick or jest._

 _"You - I love you, too." I truthfully confessed._

 _The kiss was different from all our others we had previously shared. There was something deeper in it; beyond lust, or desire. It was what we had just proclaimed to each other and it was wonderful._

 _I pulled back from the kiss and jumped in surprise. In the place of Dan was Mr. Darcy, sitting as Dan had with his arms around me and my kiss still fresh on his lips._

 _"Miss Elizabeth."_

 _"What!" I pulled myself away but he held me tighter._

"Miss Elizabeth, wake up."

"What...no...where?..."

"Miss Bennet."

"...no...that's not my name..."

"Elizabeth."

The hand that I thought was holding me, was in fact shaking my shoulder with gentle violence, trying to rouse me from my sleep.

"Wake! You are only dreaming, Miss Elizabeth."

"Mr. Darcy?" I groggily opened my eyes to see the figure of my dream clear into reality. He was bent over me, a single line marring the skin between his brows, and a warm hand still shaking my shoulder.

I pushed myself up and wiped the sleep from my eyes. He removed his hand and stood awkwardly beside me. "W-what's going on?"

"Your mother has started asking after you so I thought I would fetch you." He busied himself with playing with his cuffs, taking much longer to straighten them then needed.

"How did you know where to find me?" I sat up a little more, trying, despite my lethargy, to civilly present myself. I saw that my frock was all askew and no doubt my face showed signs of heavy sleep. Lord knows what my hair had transfigured into.

Mr. Darcy stopped his rifling of his cuffs to look down at me. "You are not the most inconspicuous of persons."

At my blank look he elaborated. "I watched you exit the drawing room to enter the one we now inhabit."

"Oh." I said simply, rubbing my eyes once more. I felt more than a little disconcerted at having the man I was just kissing in my dream standing not a foot from me as I lay slumped, disheveled on the chaise.

"I will follow in a moment, Mr. Darcy." I said, signaling for him to leave. He remained, however. Hesitating is actually what he seemed to be doing.

"I would know that you were alright before leaving you."

"Me?" I questioned, raising my brows in some surprise. "Fit as a fiddle. Why?"

If he thought my expression strange he didn't show it, but pressed on. "When I first saw you in your sleep you were in some distress of the mind, I think."

"Nightmare." I told him automatically. "I was being eaten by a fish."

He paused a moment. "I don't think I believe that."

"You're not meant to."

"I will respect your wish at privacy...in truth, I would not have asked at all had it not been for the utterance of my name."

"Your name? I said your name?"

Mr. Darcy nodded.

I took a breath. "Did I say anything else with your name?" I gingerly inquired, feeling a hot blush spread across my features. At least the room was dimly lit. Only the moonlight streamed in through chinks in the curtains.

He did not answer straight away, no more than a second, I am sure, yet it felt an eternity before he gave me a curt shake of his head.

"No. Only my name, Miss Elizabeth. Shall I tell your mother that I have discovered you." He asked, tactfully changing the subject.

"Oh, please don't. She's already berated me on yawning too much. If she finds out that I actually fell asleep I'd never hear the end of it." I was being quite serious, yet Mr. Darcy made a sound that could not be mistaken for anything but a chuckle.

I brought my eyes to him in wonder, blinking away the sleep. He caught the expression and stopped immediately. "Forgive me."

"Forgive you? For what?"

"For finding humour in your apparent dread of your mother discovering details of your repose. I should not have laughed."

I brushed a stray strand of hair out of my eyes and pushed myself to stand from the not too terribly comfortable chaise longue. "You should laugh more." I commented, fluffing out my frock.

"I believe that _you_ laugh enough for the two of us." He remarked.

"Oh, ha ha." I smirked. There was a moments silence in which the pair of us caught the others eye in a familiar fashion that brought small smiles to each of our mouths.

"Shall we rejoin the others?" He said at last, extending his arm for me to take.

"Yes, I think we better had."

The warm brightness of the other room was too much at first after the dim of the vacant room, but my sight soon adjusted and I detached myself from Mr. Darcy's arm. From the corner of my eye I noticed Miss Bingley watching us with clear disapproval. Avoiding her person, I steered my feet to Mrs. Bennet to get the interview over with.

"Lizzy, where have you been?"

"Around."

"Don't be smart with me! I've had a very trying time of speaking engagements with Mrs. Long _and_ Mrs. Forster _and_ Mrs. Mack -

"Mrs. who?" I asked, not recognizing the name.

"Mrs. Mack, Mr. Mack's wife..."

"...I'd figured that..."

"...coming to visit some cousins. But that is not the point; I could hardly hear a word for worry of where you had gotten to."

"I was only in the other room, mama." I conceded.

"Other room? What other room?" She sharply persisted.

"The foyer. I was getting some air."

"For half-an-hour! I don't believe it!"

"Mama, I am here now. Will that not please you?" I tiredly beseeched her.

"No it will not." She delicately sniffed and turned her head in a blatant show of ignoring me. I sighed, being in no mood to continue the argument. Instead I cast my gaze about until it quite naturally landed on Mr. Darcy. In the time of my settling down with Mrs. Bennet, he had situated himself with Jane and Mr. Bingley, adding only little to the conversation. My dream rushed towards me, showing me once again the image of that gentleman taking the place of Dan in an alarming way. Was it only a dream, or did it have a meaning? I was starting to think the latter was true, after all it was in a dream that I saw the real Elizabeth Bennet being hurled down a tunnel, right at me, and the next thing I knew I was in Pride & Prejudice.

Not for the first time, I wondered if she was in my body; interacting with my friends and family. Was she managing with the modern age? Was she - had she met Dan? She was resourceful in the book; I had to hope she was in reality.

Mr. Bingley's contagious laugh flitted over to where I sat and I smiled. Charles Bingley had yet to disappoint the fixed character I had in my head from the story.

My mind suddenly did a back track, trying to find what it was that had shot out at me. I said his name again: Charles Bingley. Charles. Charlie!

Dan's best mate was Charlie! I don't know why I thought that important, maybe it was only because I had never made the connection before, but I wondered that I hadn't.

"Charlie." I breathed to myself, looking up at the man in question. He was still laughing and even coaxing Mr. Darcy into a smile.

"That can't be a coincidence." I decided. Something was going on.

* * *

 **A/N:** Of course something's going on, but what exactly? That is the question. Once again, let me know what you think. Good? Bad? Ugly? Let me know in the box below. Thank you for all of your support in following/favoriting (can I say that?) and reviews. They are much appreciated.

This weeks question is: which is your favorite mini-series adaptation of a period novel?

And even if you don't want to tell me your opinion on my writing, at least answer my question. It gives me a clue to my readers:)

'Til next time.


	10. Chapter 10 Annie

**Chapter Ten: Annie**

The sun was a watery mixture of light and fog, gently peeping through the dim sky and giving the grass and trees a hazy look. Soon the sun would be out of sight completely and all ladies would be returned to the safety of the indoors, but for now two such ladies walked idly, arm in arm, down a lane that connected to Longbourn. Myself and Charlotte met at our appointed time the day after the party at Lucas Lodge and decided to take in some fresh air. We were also inclined to leave Longbourn as Mrs. Bennet was in a state of high anxiety. Over what exactly, neither of us were sure; only that her nerves were terrible. I felt slightly guilty in leaving Jane with her, but she had insisted that Charlotte and I have our walk.

"Did you hear that the Campbell's will be quitting Meryton in a month's time?" Charlotte brought up. We had fallen into a peaceful silence, broken only by the sudden appearance of Mr. Campbell up ahead on the lane riding towards us on his mammoth of a horse.

"I had heard." I answered, feeling pleased in my knowledge of local gossip. I had Hill to thank for the information. She had looked at me quite strangely when I asked who the Campbells even were but was happy, nevertheless, to divulge all talk on the family that had become old news to everybody else for miles around. "And apparently they won't be taking Mrs. Campbells' ladies maid." I added quietly as Mr. Campbell grew closer.

"I hadn't heard that." Charlotte whispered in my ear before dropping into a short bob of greeting to the rider astride the alarmingly huge horse. Mr. Campbell hardly lifted the brim of his hat to us, indeed he seemed to barely notice us.

We looked after him once he had passed with curious eyes; his form seemed haggard, almost as if he hadn't been getting much sleep or was worried over something.

"Do you suppose the move is an unwanted one - on his part at least?" I put to Charlotte. My friend gave the man a last look and shrugged.

"It is hard to say; he has never been an entirely open man. Perhaps he is only overtired from arrangements."

Neither of us had any other suggestions and soon Mr. Campbell was out of sight, therefore, out of mind so we continued on, slowly making our way back to Longbourn.

"My father will be going up to London in a fortnight." Charlotte introduced to the conversation.

"Really. What for?" I asked without having a real interest. There was something about Charlotte that I felt I couldn't relax around. She wasn't terribly uptight, or a control freak, nor a bossy know-it-all; and without having those traits I didn't see what it was that made me uncomfortable around her. I think it was the way in which she accepted things. You couldn't really get a rise out of her as she would inevitably view it as part of life and nothing unusual. It was a good trait, I suppose, just one I was unused to. Everything was cause and effect in my old life. If people wanted something a certain way they wanted nothing short of that and if they were unsatisfied the usual moaning of how their life sucked or that they had the worst luck would ensue. It was oddly refreshing to see life from the point of view of the nineteenth century. I only wished that Charlotte wouldn't be so calm all the time.

"He is to meet with a Lord Hanbea, a Devon from Mayhill Hall. I believe he is an acquaintance of Mr. Darcy's as well. Eliza, are you well?"

"Did you say Devon? As in a Devon of Devonshire?"

"Yes, I believe Lord Hanbea is from Devonshire. Do you know him?"

"No." I answered her absently. My thoughts were all on this mysterious Devon person again; someone who had never even been mentioned in the book was now not only going to be visiting Mr. Darcy at Pemberly, but was summoning Sir William to London.

"Why does Lord..."

"Hanbea."

"...Lord Hanbea want to see you father?"

"I don't know the particulars, nor does father yet from what I gather; it is a great honour, to be sure."

"I wonder who he is." I said more to myself though loud enough for Charlotte to hear. "You may see that my interest has been piqued." I admitted.

"You did show more enthusiasm for my news than I thought necessary." She remarked with an amused quirk of her brow.

"It was Mr. Darcy who had first mentioned the name to me," I explained. "My curiosity has only grown stronger now with your news of who this man may be."

"I hear he is an older gentleman; I fear he may not have the stamina to keep up with you, Eliza dear." Longbourn was coming into view and I had been watching the spiraling smoke emitting from the chimneys when I swiveled my head towards my friend.

"Charlotte! That was the farthest thing from my mind, you insinuating imp."

"Imp, is it?" I was relieved to see her smile. I had name-called her before thinking of how she may take it and was worried I had crossed a line. But living up to her qualities, she took it in her stride and teased me back.

"How am I supposed to know your intentions when you so eagerly ask after the gentleman. Oh look, it's Kitty - alone again, I see. Has something happened between her and Lydia?"

I cast a glance at the young girl scurrying back to the house with many darting looks over her shoulder; clearly she didn't see us before turning into the front garden of the house as she would have most likely stopped to acknowledge us.

"Not that I know of. I wonder _w_ _hy_ Lydia isn't with her?" I wondered aloud, a bit of worry creeping into my voice.

"She may already be home; the light is falling see." Charlotte helpfully pointed to the receding sun.

"You had better return home, Charlotte. You don't want to be caught in the dark."

"I agree." She pecked my cheek in parting and then turned her feet in the direction of Lucas Lodge.

My own feet continued on the way home, but in a much more leisurely pace. Night in the country did not frighten me, how could it after having ventured out into the modern city streets of London at midnight. It was a short break from having to talk with anybody as Charlotte and I had walked during the time I usually took for myself. Mrs. Bennet would hopefully be recovered from whatever it was that had ailed her this afternoon and if not then not. I was required to return home before the day had completely vanished, yet I found myself taking one last turn rather than entering the grounds of Longbourn.

"Just a few more minutes." I said to myself. The air was cold but there was no wind so my cloak stayed warm and snug around my upper body. Only my legs and feet suffered a bit from the temperature, but I found myself ignoring that as the night was so calm and peaceful.

In the distance, I heard a meow and was forcefully reminded of my lovely Jax. I missed his sweet face and big eyes that would look at me as if he knew what I was thinking.

"Oh, Jax," I muttered, feeling a bit of a choke in the back of my throat; "what has happened."

The darkness of night was beginning to overwhelm the faint sun and stars were starting to shine into existence far away to the west of the earth's horizon. "Same stars. Different time."

I hadn't been expecting a response to my statement so I was taken by surprise by the sudden burst of frail crying I heard somewhere up ahead.

"Hello?" I timidly raised my voice, suddenly feeling how dangerous the country _could_ be at night with no one around for miles to help or hear you. The crying only continued and I realized it was a child's.

"Hello? Are you hurt?" Cautiously I walked towards the crying, squinting my eyes through the dimness of light. The moon had yet to rise to shed some assistance on where I now tripped and stumbled in my nervous anxiety to reach the crying child. There was a copse of trees that loomed out of the increasing night, their bare limbs intensifying my desire to discover whoever was in distress and then return home as fast as possible. The crying was close now, from somewhere in the array of broad trunks.

"Oh." I whimpered, stopping short in front of the menacing silhouettes of the trees. Very much did I dislike the prospect of entering the thicket, but the call of the crying child proved to have a stronger influence than my fear. It was hard to see much with the dark shadows pooling at the base of the trees and more than once I had to catch myself from falling over an unseen root. All the while the crying went on, bringing a cry of my own to my throat.

"Where are you?"

There was a large tree to my right that I used as a guide to maneuver around a corner when I saw an abnormal lump protruding from the roots. It was a bundle of cloth on the hard, frigid ground; too cold to wriggle around in fear but not too weak to cry from it.

"Oh, my G-d." I lunged forward, crashing down to my knees and scooping up the baby into my arms. It's crying rose a pitch at the sudden movement but returned to it's normal tone as it's energy was quickly leaving it.

"Oh, my - . Who did this to you?" I cried in earnest distress. I blew heat into my hands and rubbed them against the swaddled babe trying restore some warmth to the vulnerable body. "Come on, my dear, let's get you nice and warm and fed."

Rising to my feet, I tucked the baby under the safety of my cloak, left the nightmarish copse, and hurried home. I went immediately for the kitchen where I knew I would find a warm fire. Upon entering, I found no Hill, though I did see some broth sitting most welcomingly on the table.

"Alright, you poor little babe, let's set you by the fire." With one hand, I pushed the grate in front of the crackling flames, undid the latch of my cloak, set it on the hard floor and placed the baby on it. "You wait there while I get you something to eat." I whispered. Thankfully, the child had stopped its crying and was showing signs of exhaustion as it's translucent eyelids appeared heavier than they were, closing over the big brown orbs. The heat that now enveloped the child played a merry glow over its round, soft face.

"Right. How do I feed you?" I asked myself aloud. The broth was the choice food, but the choice method of serving it to the baby was a problem that needed some consideration. "I suppose sippy cups aren't all the rage yet." I sarcastically mumbled to myself as I scoured the shelves and cupboard for something suitable. The baby was lying absolutely still causing me to go over and keep checking that it was still breathing. It was in a deep sleep with only a single dried tear streaking the side of its face.

There was some cloth and if I remembered correctly I had once seen in a period movie (I don't remember which one) that they had dipped the cloth into the milk and then the baby had sucked it. Well, if it was the closest thing to breast feeding, it would have to do.

I poured the broth into a bowl and brought it over to where the baby lay.

I don't know how much time passed, or how long Hill had been absent from her kitchen, but I knew my family would be worried over me. In fact, half my mind was wondering why I wasn't hearing shouts of inquiry as to my whereabouts.

"Something must be happening." I whispered to the sleeping baby. A few times it crossed my mind to venture up to where the family would be, but I was scared of leaving the baby so near the fire and I didn't dare move it from it's warmth either, so I stayed. Dinner would have to be served soon anyway.

At last, the baby began to stir and I saw the tiny little rose bud of a mouth quiver. There were no teeth to be seen and given it's size the child was almost assuredly a newborn. A list of awful thoughts against the people who did this sprung up in my mind. To leave a defenceless child out in the freezing weather to die was something so inexplicably cruel that once again I was reminded that Pride & Prejudice was no longer a story but real life with real cads walking the same earth as everybody else.

"Come, my love, would you like some warm broth?" The brown eyes opened and stared up at me. I brought the soaked tip of the cloth to the baby's mouth and the round lips did not hesitate to latch onto it. The sucking sound was quite loud for such a little thing; it must not have had something in it's belly for hours. I repeated the action multiple times, the baby growing stronger with each refilling.

"Bless me! What's that?"

The alarmed voice of Hill startled me out of my task. "Hill, you'll never believe - a child, they left a baby out in the cold with nothing. To die!"

"They never." She narrowed her eyes at the bundle to make sure that it was indeed a babe inside the layers of cloth.

"Does thou knoowas whose done this filth of a job?"

"I saw no one. I only heard the child's crying."

"Lad or lass?"

"Uh...you know, I haven't even checked that yet." Hill approached and we both unswaddled the baby to expose the secret of her gender.

"A lass. A poor wee lass. What's thou givin' it?"

"Broth. I couldn't find milk." I added as I saw Hill's quizzical look.

"Milk for the bonny lass." She cooed, scooping the child up with an arm, bear bum and all. I stood after her, wiping away the small splatters of broth that had dropped onto my frock.

"The missus has been askin' for you. Thou'd better go up. Oi'll look after the wee bairn."

"Should I tell her." I gestured at the baby that was now being treated to the milk Hill had revealed.

"It's nae somethin' that could be kept hidden long, is it?" Hill reasoned in a soft sing song voice that the baby seemed to enjoy very much.

"No," I laughed; "there would be no chance of hiding her. I'll be back directly."

I climbed the step that led into the hall and followed the corridor until I heard the sound of talking in the drawing room.

"Lizzy, there you are." Jane rose from where she was sitting to come and greet me. Beside her I saw Lydia in a very reclined attitude and not looking too pleased. At least she was home, I thought.

"You were much longer than you said you'd be? Is Charlotte to walk home in the dark. Perhaps we could send the carriage after her so she might not walk so alone - "

"Jane, Charlotte is already home, I'm sure, and as to my lateness...I discovered something on the road that couldn't be left."

"On the road! What can you mean to be finding something on the road and bringing it home! And how my nerves have suffered today; you mean only to vex me, I am sure." Mrs. Bennet moaned rather petulantly.

"No, mama. I did not bring the abandoned babe home for the sole purpose of annoying you." My statement had the desired effect of capturing everyone's attention.

"A baby?"

"On the road?"

"Abandoned?"

"Such selfish and cruel people I never wish to know." This last from the iron maiden of the time. She seemed to have quite forgotten her nerves as the subject of harmed children did much to stir her compassion it appeared. "Where is the baby now?"

"In the kitchen with Hill. She was so cold that I wanted her to warm up a bit by the fire before feeding her, though I don't think I did a good job on choosing what to give her. Hill quite relieved me of my duties."

"Well, we must see the darling child. Lizzy, go fetch her."

I did as I was told and was pleased at how welcome a reception the little girl was getting.

Hill had changed her nappies and was presently burping her with a soft hand to her back.

"The missus wishes to see the bairn." She guessed. I nodded. The transfer was easy and the baby curled herself into my chest, lazily searching for my breast, though I think she was full as she soon gave up the search. She was such a healing weight in my arms, so solid and smooth and so beautiful. I was almost loathe to give her up when Mrs. Bennet caught sight of her, but mama was not to be denied.

"Oh, she _is_ precious. A little angel to be discovered."

They all stood to gather around Mrs. Bennet, even Mr. Collins who asked, "did you identify the culprits?"

"No. Only the baby was there. It was her crying that first alerted me to her presence."

"The poor darling was crying! I daresay I would cry if I had been left for dead."

"I believe you would do more than that." I muttered to myself.

Lydia stood behind her mother gazing with a smile at the baby when she was reminded of something.

"Lizzy, you do not know yet!"

"What don't I know?"

Apparently Mrs. Bennet knew as her eyes lit up even more with a hint of triumph.

"An invitation has come today from Netherfield for our presence at a ball; Mr. Bingley has even included Mr. Collins! Isn't that the most gracious act. What a gentleman!"

"Mama, not so loud. She is trying to sleep." I politely tried to point out.

"Oh, yes so she is. Perhaps you had better take her."

I received her without complaint.

"So a ball." I continued the conversation. "For what date?"

"The 26th!" Mrs. Bennet beamed with a handkerchief held tightly in her hand. "Oh, Jane, Jane!" She continued with the largest grin. If Jane's expression was anything to go by, she had been hearing exclamations of this sort for a good part of the day.

"It must be on your account, Jane dear."

"I do not see why, mama." Jane politely argued. "It is not unusual for a gentleman to receive guests for dancing and dinner. Mr. Bingley is only being a kind neighbor."

"Jane."

" _A kind neighbor!_ " Mrs. Bennet and I spoke at the same time, eliciting a giggle from the younger girls in the room. "A kind neighbor indeed who shows every respect to you and your family. What an honour to be so admired Jane!" Mrs. Bennet urged, railroading my own remark to the side with the intensity of her gusto in seeing her eldest daughter married.

"What do we do with her?" Kitty asked, turning the topic back to the baby.

"You would do well to bring her to your church if she is unwanted - "

"Don't say that." I interrupted Mr. Collins.

"I only meant, cousin, unwanted by those who so easily dispensed of her." He explained with an emphasis of gentleness which only came off as if he were speaking to the deaf and dumb.

"Yes, I know, only...she's not unwanted." I said truthfully, yet quietly.

"Lizzy?" I heard the horrified hitch in Mrs. Bennet's voice and was almost tempted to laugh had I not the serious consideration of keeping little Annie, as I was beginning to call her in my head.

"You can not mean -"

"No, I suppose not, but - "

"But..." Mama's eyes were round in alarm and had her handkerchief been equipped with a throat it would have been choked to death.

"It is hard." I said simply, clutching Annie closer to me. There was a short silence in which I felt the entire rooms' eyes staring wholes into me. I knew what I was suggesting was not the way and sounded almost absurd for someone in my station, but I had not lived this life. I was not immune to the rules and structures of society and all I knew was that I didn't want to give Annie up to just anyone, especially not the church where she would be passed over for years as just another orphan.

"I think I will go up. I'm not hungry. Please excuse me." No one said a word as I left the room and I barely made it out before my stomach gave a loud grumble.

* * *

"Alright, little Annie, let's get you settled for the night." She was lying in the middle of my bed with a white cloth wrapped around her; something Hill had dug up for me along with the milk I would need for the midnight feedings as well as some food for myself. I had asked her not to mention the last bit to the others since I didn't want them knowing I had eaten without them and in my room. It was only bread and cheese, but it had filled me up nicely. They were, however, informed of my desire to have the baby with me this night.

There was no cot for Annie so she was to share my bed. The only thing that concerned me was the possibility of my rolling on top of her or her rolling on her stomach and smothering herself, therefore I built a small cocoon around her made of pillows and blankets, keeping her in place. As of yet, despite her first crying fit (which was quite understandable) she was showing a very docile nature. She didn't open her eyes too much, though she made plenty of gurgling noises in the back of her throat.

"Little Annie." I whispered, stroking a single finger down the bridge of her button nose. She wrinkled her face into a small smile and then let it drop again.

"What are we to do with you, hmm?" I sighed, feeling a leaden weight in my chest.

The chilly air prompted me to get under the covers, though it took some time for sleep to come. The Netherfield Ball was finally happening; I had almost forgotten about it. Would that mean Jane will soon be bereft of Mr. Bingley? Or maybe not. I didn't know anymore.

"Oh, Annie, if only you knew you shared a bed with a time traveler you might look a little more interested in me." I said, propping myself up on an elbow to lay a hand on her small chest. She only smacked her lips together and turned her head away. Most likely getting into a more comfortable position.

"No need to rub it in." I smiled, stroking her round cheek. "You see, I don't know who I can tell - if I _can_ tell anybody about who I really am. Who would believe me? If I made a claim like that in my world I'd be sent to the loony bin - Lord knows what they'd do here." I spoke to her long into the night as if she were a grown person. It didn't matter to me if she was asleep or not; she was a living person that I was finally telling the truth of my experiences to. Had she been awake it wouldn't have made a difference, she wouldn't have been able to understand me anyway.

It was a little past two in the morning when Annie woke for her milk. I had dozed of, not remembering that I had shut my eyes with my hand still on her tiny frame. She began to wriggle and reach out her pudgy little fists; her best way of demanding before full out crying. Thankfully I woke just in time to bring her the milk before she had the chance to wake the whole house.

I scooped her into my arms and she went immediately for my breast. "Oi, not there!" I softly exclaimed, jolted by the foreign feeling. "Here." I held the make shift milk dispenser to Annie's mouth and she was contended. My mind relaxed at her happy silence; I had had some nerves about the feeding. I knew that sometimes I could be a heavy sleeper, but I suppose with a babe around instincts kick in and everything is altered.

There was no rocking chair, only a small wooden seat that went with the writing desk, hardly comfortable but not utterly useless. I pulled it up to the edge of the bed and placed the bowl of milk on it. Apparently the world had yet to discover nightstands as there were none to be found in any of the bedrooms.

Rocking her slowly back and forth on the thick mattress, Annie drank her fill, gracing me with the sight of her big brown eyes. She watched me the whole time, even when the soaked cloth was taken away to be refilled she had eyes for me alone and only found the milky tip again by searching blindly with her mouth. I had to laugh at the cute expression she pulled while doing it.

At last she hiccuped and refused to suckle the cloth anymore; instead she was showing her more rambunctious side. She flailed her arms out as I tried to lift her to my shoulder to burp her; her tiny fingers easily getting snared in the tangles of my hair.

"Ooh. Ow. Annie. Shh." I cooed, rubbing my hand in circular motions against her back. She seemed to like that as her case of the fidgets halted for a moment and I was able to burp her.

"Brah!"

"Annie." I turned my head, surprised at the rather loud burp something so small emitted. She giggled and tried to mimic her own burp, no doubt trying to get a reaction out of me again.

"You're a little trickster, aren't you?" I asked, holding her up before me. She only swung her small feet around in answer, however I detected a mischievous dimple surfacing on one of the round cheeks.

"Well, ask anyone and you'll find out that I'm all for mischievousness - just not at a quarter to three in the morning. So let's get you sleepy again, alright."

I placed her back in her cocoon of pillows and blankets and had to give her my hand as a distraction from trying wriggle her way out of her bed.

"What shall we do to get you tired?" I thought. A memory came back to me of a faceless voice that had sung to me when I was small. My mother's mother, my grandmother whom I only had scattered memories of, but of whom I could remember her sweet voice and lovely songs. Her Irish lilt had always soothed me and made an impression on me that I sometimes dreamt of her, though her face was never the same. Sometimes she had rosy cheeks, other times she was more pale, and certain times I couldn't see her face at all but could only hear her singing to me as if from far away, from a land over the sea.

"Alright Annie, from my grandmother to me and now from me to you:

 _Lay down your head and I'll sing you a lullaby  
_ _Back to the years of loo-li lai-lay  
_ _And I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrow  
_ _Bless you with love for the road that you go._

Annie's pudgy hands slowly stopped their tugging of my fingers as her eyes focused on me with a dreamy interest.

 _May you sail fair to the fair fields of fortune  
_ _With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet  
_ _And may you need never to banish misfortune  
_ _May you find kindness in all that you meet._

 _May there always be angels to watch over you  
_ _To guide you each step of the way  
_ _To guard you and keep you safe from all harm  
_ _Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay_

My voice continued to grow softer as Annie's eyes continued to grow dimmer.

 _May you bring love and may you bring happiness  
_ _Be loved in return to the end of your days  
_ _Now fall off to sleep I'm not meaning to keep you  
_ _I'll just sit for a while and sing loo-li, lai-lay_

 _May there always be angels to watch over you  
_ _To guide you each step of the way  
_ _To guard you and keep you safe from all harm  
_ _Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay  
_ _Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay._

I finished the song in barely a whisper, satisfied to see the even rise and fall of Annie's chest and her closed eyes. Carefully, I removed my hand from her loose grip and settled back under the covers, blowing the candle out as I did so.

"Goodnight, dear little Annie."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, hello everyone and Happy New Year! I hope you all had good Holidays. I myself had a very wonderful eight days of Chanukah with many latkes, a little too much chocolate, fun gifts, and the beautiful Menorah that shone so beautifully on the eighth day with all the candles burning, and I can't seem to stop humming Maoz Tzur to myself.

I know I am a week late in updating but with the explanation above you can see my very valid excuse :) I want to thank you all again for reviewing and following and favoriting. And Analyn d'Ettore when I saw your review I could have slapped my hand to my forehead. I actually do know Las Vegas is in Nevada but for some reason I was so focused on the balloon ride and I knew that they had those in Arizona so I guess I just lobbed it all together. Let's say that they then drove to Nevada to go to the strip.

This weeks question will not be about Pride & Prejudice or anything like that, instead: What was your favorite moment that happened this holiday season?

I already said mine, when all the candles were lighted on the Menorah. Though I guess I'll have to add getting a paint set. That made me a happy camper.

'Til next time.


	11. Chapter 11 A Mother's Heart

**Chapter Eleven: A Mother's Heart**

Had Mr. Darcy not already been in a flummoxing state of finding his heart quite in danger, overhearing Miss Elizabeth utter his name in the same breath as the word love as she slept would certainly have made ground for him towards that direction. Since the Lucas's party all was a passing blur of information of a generally monotonous nature; the inhabitants that shared the same roof Mr. Darcy brooded and pondered under had not much to say that would induce their friend to surface from his most absorbed thoughts.

The sister snobs did their best in focusing all their womanly charms in the attainment of the gentleman's attention, alas it was all in vain. For, though it could not be denied that they were handsome women themselves, there was now a model of loveliness to be measured up to, one that neither of Bingley's sisters could ever reach in the view of Mr. Darcy.

He passed the days in similar fashion to an automaton; eating when food was put before him, sitting when a chair was offered behind him, and lying in his bed - though not restfully, a restful sleep was a step too far - when the sun had winked away from it daily duty of lighting the world.

In his own private quarters a little of his recognizable self would return in the surety of no prying eyes to dissect his heart pangs from him. He would pace a contrary line to the bold design of the axminster carpet he trod on, scuffling from left to right, and in so doing, marring the perfectly weaved circles in half with his careless passion. The beguiling eyes of Miss Elizabeth would proceed to sharpen into clarity, therefore allowing a perfectly credible excuse for his abuse of the carpet. The enticing orbs shone all the more bright (despite their having been closed at the time) with the added image of the lady's sweet repose. Her curls falling in gentle waves over her brow and cheek and her red lips twitching with the secret words of her slumber, pouring forth only the two that agonized Mr. Darcy's sanity more than he would ever have guessed.

It was too much for a single mind to bear, was a constant thought of his. His nerve, as inconsistent as the changing of winds, gusted with the heat of his desire to speak openly with Miss Elizabeth, as much as it fell away into worried thoughts of family position and acceptability.

The two restless nights since the Lucas's party, since awareness of his name sharing a sentence with the enigmatic word of 'love' in the conscious of Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy paddled in unfamiliar waters with only one paddle and that being broken on either ends. His need to acclimatize to the facts of his own heart became pressing with each passing minute of the hours. His two warring selves were nearing the critical point in which a victor would be named; a prospect of absolute horror to both minds capsuled in the calm shell of Mr. Darcy.

The very first morning that Elizabeth and Annie woke together was the morning Mr. Bingley had welcomed as the day to pay a visit to Longbourn. His given reasons were bountiful; to make sure they had received their invitation to the ball, to be sure that Mr. Collins knew of his inclusion of the party, a desire to perform any favour that might be asked of him; perhaps to acquaint Mr. Collins to the residence hereabouts, etc. Comically, his true reason for the early call, though not spoken, was writ across his countenance in very telling hues of pink and scarlet. His intimate friends had the advantage of knowing the cause for such remarkable colours so early in the day; had a stranger seen the hurried and flushed way in which Mr. Bingley gave his reasons for his calling, however, one might have thought that he was overly eager to see Mr. Collins.

His departure set up a flurry of clacking tongues, a duo to be precise, commenting and gossiping with hardly an intermission for air to pass through the upturned nostrils.

"What can he mean to be calling as such a time."

"I hardly held myself, but he is his own man - "

" - and must do what a man must."

"His senses will return in time."

"Not soon enough." Mrs. Hurst sniffed, allowing a short burst of air to flow to her grateful lungs.

"What say you, Mr. Darcy?" Miss Bingley had her most winning smile fixed onto her tuned mask as her eyes lighted on the gentleman sitting further than what would commonly be considered polite. Had his hands been employed in the holding up of a book, this slight might have been excused, but at present his empty hands lay palm down on his knees, his back was aligned with the back of the chair, though his head was slouched forward ever so slightly, his eyes feasting on the sparking flares of the fire that kept the room warm from its station in the hearth. His intense stare at the sparks and cinders acted as transport for his mind to fish out the image that haunted him incessantly. As he thought of it he wondered if indeed he was the haunted or was he the one doing the haunting. Which was the one who couldn't let the other go?

At the call of his name, the gentleman tore his gaze from the alluring fire and rested them somewhere in the middle of the sister snobs, unsure of the one who had summoned his attention.

"I'm sorry?" He said with a clear look of needing the question repeated.

"I merely inquired as to your opinion of Charles's willingness for so close an association with the Bennet family."

Mr. Darcy raised one of his hands to his brow, rubbing away the tiredness that pursued him from the previous night and answered with a sharper tone than he had intended. "They are not peddlers, nor beggars; they are honest country people who show kind regard for their new neighbors as Charles does likewise. I see no reason for a limited association."

The air that had had a time of replenishing the sister snobs' lungs before took advantage of their stunned silence to flow generously in and out of their bodies. Mr. Darcy resumed the rubbing of his head until his hand fell away and his eyes returned to the fire.

It took a second more for conversation to strike up again between the two sisters. Their surprise at the power behind Mr. Darcy's words were clearly unexpected by their round eyes and muted lips, lips that had to ease their way back into gossip by first whispering and then relaxing into their former, more confident volume. Furtive glances were cast at the gentleman's profile by the un-promised Miss Bingley as the start of a worrying tick could be felt irritating the lady's heart. She did not try again to engage Mr. Darcy in conversation until her brother had entered the room, fresh with news from Longbourn. She was at once aware of Mr. Darcy's change in attitude, his focus no longer being on the fire but on what Mr. Bingley had to say.

"The most extraordinary news! I can hardly believe it myself - a small miracle they were calling it and I'm inclined to agree." Mr. Bingley uselessly beamed as he fixed himself a drink.

"With what, Charles? You haven't told us what you are speaking of. And isn't it a bit early for that." Miss Bingley drolly reminded him with a small gesture at the glass in his grip. Her brother smiled, took an open chair, brought the spirits to his lips, swallowed, and then loosely rested the glass on his knees.

"Miss Elizabeth has taken in a child - a babe."

Mr. Darcy involuntarily started from his chair but caught himself before rising to his full height. He dropped his weight back down aware of the attention drawn by his rather spastic action.

"You alright, Darcy." Mr. Bingley asked with a peculiar quirked brow.

"Of course I am fine. What about the child? Whose is it? What will be done with it?"

Mr. Bingley's answers were proving to be unsatisfactory to his friend, though more than illuminating to his sisters. Poor little Annie had been abandoned and was rescued by Miss Elizabeth, apparently just in time. A doctor had been sent for before Mr. Bingley's arrival though he was present for the visit and inspection of the frail little body. Annie needed rest, food, and love, all being abundant at Longbourn.

"But after the child's - "

" - Annie - " Mr. Bingley interrupted.

"...Annie's," Mr. Darcy assented, "recuperation, what will become of her then? Did Miss Elizabeth - "

Once again Mr. Bingley interrupted his friend. "I was told of no future plans, only what has already passed and what the family learned together by the doctor's visit."

"They will not be able to keep her long." Miss Bingley commented.

"Indeed, the charitable act will last only as long as the child has need of it, but should she remain any longer than required..." Mrs. Hurst left her sentence unfinished in the surety that her meaning was universally understood.

"Of course, if they took on the child - "

" - Annie - " Mr. Bingley smiled as he took another sip.

" - if they took on _Annie_ as a ward..." Miss Bingley suggested with the same confidence as her sister of only uttering half sentences.

"True," Mrs. Hurst speculated, "however, I think it best that _Annie_ ," she emphasized with a nod to her brother who nodded appreciatively, "be placed with the church."

"And become an orphan?" Mr. Bingley argued.

"Better than remain at Miss Eliza's hip."

"Mr. Darcy?" Miss Bingley suddenly asked. The gentleman had listened with restrained silence. His two warring selves, mobilized by the threat of a smear against Elizabeth's character, filled to the brim and overflowed the boundaries his mind had originally placed as his last defence.

"Darcy," Mr. Bingley said, setting his glass down and rising to stand before his friend; "you look...confused."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

"That's odd, seeing as I've never felt more certain of something."

"Certain of what?" This from Miss Bingley, the worried tick in her heart, ticking away. Mr. Darcy evaded her question with, "Please excuse me." And was gone. Ten minutes later the befuddled party was informed that Mr. Darcy had asked for his horse and was off to Longbourn.

* * *

Doctor Martin's visit had done much to calm my fears over Annie's weak state. Her health, he had reassured me, would return in time as all other systems were a go. He hadn't used that exact wording, though his sentiment was the same. He informed us all that while the church was the obvious place to bring Annie she would recover her strength much faster if she remained with us for a week or two. I latched onto this argument, stating that it would be no trouble for me to have the watch over Annie in her time of need. Needless to say, I played it up a little, pulling on the heartstrings and reminding dear mama that it was the Christian thing to do.

It was not difficult to tell that Mrs. Bennet had already developed a soft spot for Annie, but the real ace in my argument was when Mr. Bingley had arrived and proved to be my strongest advocate. His whole-hearted introduction to little Annie alleviated Mrs. Bennet's fears that a baby might put the gentleman off. Indeed, his behaviour proved to be quite the contrary. The stereotype of only women being suited to interact with babies had clearly never met Mr. Charles Bingley. In the length of his visit I barely had Annie to myself as she found herself perched and held and soothingly bounced in the arms of the gentleman.

Jane couldn't keep the enchanted expression hidden at the sight. Her eyes were fixed on them, a happy smile curving up and dominating her features.

Mr. Bennet had been told of Annie last night at dinner, though I didn't know until breakfast this morning. He hadn't said much, though the twinkle in his eyes said more for him than an entire meal of talking by Mrs. Bennet said for herself.

"Well, my Annie girl," he had said in a soft voice; "we welcome you as a guest and hope you recommend us for any other babies that you might know of inhabiting country lanes. We seem to be set up for it." He finished with a wink to me.

Presently, Annie was being watched over by the pretence of Mrs. Bennet, though it was really Hill, as Jane, Lydia and myself had errands to run in Meryton. Our mission was supplies for Annie as all of our old baby things were either too broken or too musty for immediate use. Mrs. Bennet had been sure of a cot being hidden away in the attic somewhere but when Mr. Hill had been sent to investigate he had returned with the news of the legs being broken.

This proved to be a dilemma of sorts as mama did not want her daughters being seen purchasing a cot with apparently no good reason. I had tried to remind her that we _had_ a good reason, but I was quickly told that it would not suffice. Therefore, we had come to the acceptable notion of us girls paying a call to Lucas Lodge and inquiring if a cot may be borrowed. The borrowing of such a piece of furniture was more proper than the purchasing of it.

I restrained the temptation of rolling my eyes during this small fiasco of where to find baby wears.

"I suppose a BabyR'Us isn't relevant." I had unhelpfully offered.

"A baby - what?"

My only response had been laughter.

In Meryton we would find cloth to be purchased and purchased it would be. I had never sewn baby clothes, in fact I'd never sewn anything before except a stuffed elephant in a hands work class that I never finished. I remember a classmate of mine had meant to give his to a cousin until he had accidentally lost a needle within the stuffed animal. At least I was in no danger of following suit with clothes but I still wasn't looking forward to all the times I was sure I would prick myself with the needle.

"Lizzy, it's Mr. Darcy." Jane's voice brought me out of my musings as I caught sight of the man astride his horse. It was a clear day, though chilled, and all could see perfectly well who he meant to speak with.

Jane and Lydia stayed back a little as I approached Mr. Darcy. He had dismounted and was loosely tying the reins to a branch. There was an odd glint in his eye that I couldn't make out even though it grew more pronounced with each step he took towards me. He said nothing, even as he stood before me, instead he leaned a bit to his right and then again to his left, all the while looking as if he were trying to see what was behind my back without really looking.

I heard a small giggle escape from Lydia at the unprecedented behaviour as well as a smaller giggle from Jane as she tried to hush our sister.

"I see you have been informed about Annie, sir," I openly laughed. "As you can see she is not currently with us, but at home."

"Yes, I...er...forgive me." He finally said.

I continued to laugh which only encouraged Lydia to expand her giggle.

"I am sorry, sir, we are not laughing at you," I said, trying to control myself. "Only you should have seen yourself." I was pleased to see him smile.

"Yes," he acknowledged, "I was not very couth in my manner of asking after..."

He hesitated over her name. "Annie," I helped.

"Annie." He repeated.

"She is doing well now, sir, if a little tired."

"Bingley tells me that you've had a doctor to see her."

"Yes, Doctor Martin."

"And you are pleased with his diagnosis?"

"I am."

He nodded with an abstracted air as if he wanted to say more but was unsure with how to proceed.

"Would you like to join us, Mr. Darcy? We're on our way to Lucas Lodge and then Meryton, all on account of Annie." I smiled. He nodded stiffly and then went to untie his horse. Jane and Lydia stepped forward and passed us as we four began to walk, knowingly flashing me smiles and raised brows. Lydia was more wanton in her display of teasing but I saw a small one on Jane as well.

The cheeky imps.

Mr. Darcy's behaviour, though amusing, was verging on the familiar for me. There was something in his stiff restrain that echoed similarly to when the book version of himself had first proposed to Elizabeth. Surreptitiously, I bit my lip. He couldn't possibly be thinking of proposing to me now - it was way too early in the story. _But,_ a voice said in the back of my mind, _this isn't really the same story anymore, is it? So many things have changed._

Yes, they had and the knowledge of that frightened me. I could handle the possible unknown of what might happen with Wickham, I was coming to terms with my new reality, and the curious presence of this Devon person was certainly mysterious but so was the sudden appearance of Annie. The prospect of Mr. Darcy, however, oi, the prospect of Mr. Darcy set a domino effect of emotions and reactions that left me feeling more confused than I ever felt in the whole of my life.

I hadn't had a dream of Dan since the night at Lucas Lodge when Mr. Darcy had woken me. I still felt that he had heard more than he let on, but there was no way I was going to question him further about it.

Casting a sly glance out the corner of my eye I saw that he was looking straight ahead with a hand on the reigns, leading his horse. He was obviously deep in his thoughts as I was in mine, but _his_ had the possibility of presenting an awkward situation if he plucked up the courage to say what I was sure he was fighting with himself over.

"I was wondering if you could tell me about your friend Devon, the one you said would be visiting you next year."

I caught him unawares, I saw. He hesitated a moment, as if he were reluctant to let go of whatever he had been formulating in his mind.

"Devon?" He questioned, looking at me.

"Yes, Miss Lucas told me that her father will be going up to London to meet with a Lord..." now I was the one to struggle with the name.

"Lord Hanbea." Mr. Darcy said.

"That's the one. Sir William will be meeting him and I was curious as to who he is, especially since he will become a shared acquaintance."

"He was a member of Parliament. He and my father met when they served in the House of Commons."

"Your father was an MP?" I questioned, truly interested.

"Indeed."

"I didn't know that." I wondered aloud, marveling at the new tidbit of information excluded from the novel.

"Why would you have?" Mr. Darcy questioned. It is a common case, I am sure, but one that never can be over come. The advantage of knowledge when you are not meant to have it is burdensome, and the small revealings and minor slip-ups that are bound to occur only add greater stress to the bearer of such secrets. I softly hissed under my breath before replying with as casual a manner as possible, "I suppose I wouldn't, only...what I've heard of him never lead me to believe he was involved in politics."

"What have you heard of him?"

 _That's right, Sophie, just dig your grave a litter deeper._

Mr. Darcy's tone wasn't suspicious - naturally curious is what I would call it, nevertheless, the spotlight was shining brightly on me and I could only think of one person who would be a reasonable excuse.

"Mr. Wickham has, on occasion, called upon us at Longbourn and was very fond of relating tales of your father." I cringed as my walking partner turned his gaze from mine with a set jaw and stern brow.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...I know you do not care to hear of him..." I was rambling, I knew, but if I didn't there would be silence and I feared that would be worse.

"Does he still keep your company?" Mr. Darcy bluntly asked with a quickness that I was momentarily taken off guard.

"N-no. In fact, we have not seen him for nearly a fortnight."

"But you wish you had?"

"I never took you as a victim of memory-loss, Mr. Darcy," I dryly remarked, stopping to face him on the lane. He did likewise and observed me curiously. "But weren't you witness to that time in Meryton when I practically tore myself from Mr. Wickham's side." I raised my brows at him. "Yes, I believe you were, in fact, _you_ actually helped me."

There was a soft hint of amusement twitching the corners of his mouth.

"I am glad to see you are entertained." I sniffed with mock indignation.

"So you are glad to have not been seeing that gentleman." He reassured himself. I smiled at him, feeling a little guilty for knowing that his green monster was calming back down.

"I am glad to have not been seeing that gentleman." I repeated. "Though, I'd hardly call him that." I added.

"Your sister, then, has not been keeping his company?"

"My sister? Lydia, you mean? No, not that I know of." I acknowledged with a shake of my head. "Most days I see her at home or in Meryton."

"And you are sure that they do not meet in the village?"

"Not fully, but from the times I've seen her," a polite word for spied on her, "she was never with Mr. Wickham."

That had put my mind at ease and my focus not so attentive on that sub-plot. Currently, I was more concerned with why Lydia and Kitty have been rather frosty towards each other. Jane and I thought it both a good idea to invite Lydia with us so that we might gradually interrogate her as to the cause of their fall-out. I hoped Jane was making some head-way on her own.

Mr. Darcy set us on our walk again, my sisters were a good thirty yards in front of us now. I felt a blush creep up on my face, anticipating the insinuating questions I would receive.

There was a short spell of amiable silence between the pair of us until Mr. Darcy broached a new topic.

"The child, Annie, do you mean to bring her to the church when she has recovered her strength?"

My shoulders slumped and my arms sagged. Was everyone intent on Annie becoming an orphan?

"Miss Elizabeth?"

"Mr. Darcy, may I confess something to you?"

He nodded.

"In a way I already made it known to Mrs. - to my mother, but I have to say it out loud, clearly and directly; I want to keep Annie." I said in a small voice. "I don't want her to go to the church where she'll have no parents or individual care and love." I looked up at him and saw that he was meditating over my words.

"Go ahead, say it. It would be absolutely crazy for someone like me to take the charge of a baby."

"It would be." He said simply, cutting a knife through my heart. I felt the sudden trickle of tears glaze over my eyes forcing me to blink rapidly.

"Do I assume correctly," Mr. Darcy continued, "that you repel the thought more of her becoming an orphan than giving her up to a good family?"

Inconspicuously, I tried to wipe my eyes with the back of my sleeve. "Uh," my voice cracked a little. With a clear of my throat I began again. "Um, I...yes." I answered truthfully, adding a second arrow to my already pierced heart. I was trying so hard to think of that sweet little babe. I wanted her, I knew that. But what would her life be? If what I knew of the story unfolded and I did become Mrs. Darcy, Annie would be _very_ well off; that is of course, if Mr. Darcy took her in. I couldn't imagine that he wouldn't, but I was playing every variable in my head. Or what if, miraculously, I returned to my former life and Elizabeth to hers. Would she want the care of Annie and if she didn't would all my efforts to keep her from becoming an orphan be in vain?

As I stripped away and picked apart the inner workings of my heart I caught glimpses of the truest reason for seeing Annie in a good home away from me. It was half hidden in shadows in the very back recesses of my mind; a thought that I was wary of admitting even to myself. There was no doubt that I wanted Annie, there was however a question as to the responsibilities. I hated to admit it. I hated to think that I could have such a selfish thought, perhaps it was youth, or ignorance, but it was there.

"There is a lady of my acquaintance," Mr. Darcy went on, nobly ignoring the rather loud sniff I had to take in order to keep everything out of sight. "A Mrs. Treggels, she is a widow, lives in London, and on several occasions has been known to lament the fact of her loneliness. If I made the proper introductions and Mrs. Treggels was willing...would you be inclined in Annie being adopted by her?"

"Adopted." I sniffed again. "I don't mean to sound mercenary, but Mrs. Treggels, is she..."

"She was left everything by her late husband and is provided for generously. Annie would be well taken care of." Mr. Darcy kindly informed me. He was watching me, watching the wheels turn within in my mind as I considered his most generous offer.

"You wouldn't mind?" I asked of him at last. He stopped his sedate pace and faced me, his eyes looking directly into mine. "To aid Annie would be my privilege. To aid you would be my honour." He spoke low but clear, very clear.

"I had better take my leave." He resumed. "Mr. Bingley, I fear, was left quite without reason for my sudden departure."

He gave a bow of his head and turned to mount his horse but was stopped by my hand grabbing his. He looked back at the link.

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy." I said, squeezing his hand as an unbidden tear rolled down my cheek. "I am in your debt and will be glad to repay the favour."

He took my hand more securely in his and raised it to his lips. It was a chaste kiss on my knuckles but it still had the remarkable effect of raising gooseflesh all along my arms and legs.

"I believe the first dance at the ball with suffice." He said over my hand with a grin.

* * *

The visit to Lucas Lodge had passed with nary a hitch. Mannerisms must be hereditary, for like her daughter, Lady Lucas had the incredible ability of receiving news, even those of an astonishing sort, with all the composure that was foreign to Mrs. Bennet. They were interested in how I found Annie and what state she was in, but other than that they took the incident as another milestone that happened in life. Our request for the borrowing of a cot was accepted and would be sent round to Longbourn later in the day.

Meryton had provided us with a few very nice cloths that would be transformed into baby clothes and nappies. Without my knowing it and with more speed than a brush fire, it seemed that the whole of the town was aware of my taking in of Annie. I got a few stares of interest, some smiles and nods of encouragement for my act, as well as a number of local gossips that surrounded themselves around me as they speculated where the child could have come from. However, the most intriguing sight that caught my attention that afternoon was a young woman with red hair and deep brown eyes.

I noticed her as one of the ones staring at me, but not in interest, it was more in sadness. Her entire bearing looked slack and beaten. She had only a thin shawl despite the nippy air and her forearms were exposed, yet she appeared to be utterly indifferent to the weather so long as I was in view.

"Excuse me," I pardoned myself, extricating myself from the viper grips of the gossip women and nonchalantly walked in the direction of the woman, making sure not to look at her. I wanted her to follow me.

Jane and Lydia were still perusing the shelves and counter tops of the milliner's shop.

I walked slowly, idly casting glances from side to side as if I were peering into the windows of the shops, but really I was exercising my peripheral vision to see if the woman followed. She did.

Turning into an alcove of space between two structures I waited for the woman to pass before coming out and tapping her arm. She started and when she saw who it was she made to run, but I grabbed hold of her arm.

"It's alright. I only want to talk." I gently said. She stopped her squirming, though still looked unsure of her present situation. At this close proximity, I saw that her eyes were rimmed red and that her lips were swollen.

"You've been crying."

"So what if I have. What's it to you?"

"Nothing, I guess, only you're the one whose been following me. I thought you might have wanted my help for something."

She stiffened when I called her out on her stalking and tried once more to yank herself from my grip.

"Easy. What's to be frightened of? I don't mean you any harm. See..." I released her arm, fully expecting her to run, but she stayed where she was, holding her newly freed arm in a similar grip to the one I'd just been using with her opposite hand.

"Would you care to walk?"

"No."

"Would you care to stand?"

"Where?"

I shrugged. "Any where you like. Though, if it be anywhere but here it will require some walking."

She didn't laugh, she didn't even smile, but there was a noticeable relaxing of her features.

"Would you like to talk?" I asked sincerely. Despite her red and puffy eyes, her brown orbs were so familiar and given her state of distress and the fact that she was following me I felt pretty sure who I was speaking to.

"You found a babe."

"I did."

"And she was alive?"

"She was, though only just. She is better now."

The woman was watching me with close attention, almost as if she were studying every detail of what she could see.

"What will you do with her?"

I detected the stifled worry in her voice. Mr. Darcy had not asked for privacy in our discussion of Mrs. Treggels, but I had kept it to myself, not even telling Jane or Lydia. This woman, however, had a greater claim to that knowledge - at least I felt so.

"I have a...friend who's told me of a lonely widow in London."

"London." The woman gasped, her lips trying to keep from quivering.

"What is your name?"

"It's Sally. Sally Harper." She answered as she swiped the tears from her eyes.

"You're Mrs. Campbell's ladies maid." I realized, recognizing the name. She dropped her eyes and resumed her more stern expression. Yet, I was looking passed her present front as I connected the dots. The Campbells were leaving Meryton, yet the ladies maid was to stay behind, was dismissed. Mr. Campbell had passed me and Charlotte not too long before I discovered Annie wrapped and swaddled at the foot of those trees.

Understanding dawned and the comprehension must have showed on my face, for Sally made a move to run off.

"Wait!" I caught her, though she struggled more fiercely than before.

"I know." I hissed into her ear. We were attracting attention which I was sure neither of us wanted.

"What?" She stopped her fighting and looked at me with wide horror.

"I know and I'm so sorry. So very sorry."

"You know? How can you know?" She cried, faltering and becoming limp. Instead of answering her, I lead us back between the two structures for more secure privacy. She followed without complaint.

"I saw Mr. Campbell on his horse not long after I discovered the baby."

Her face contorted into a silent sob and she lifted the hem of her apron to her face. This gave me a clearer view of her ice blue forearms.

"You're freezing."

I hastily unclasped my cape and spread it across her shaking back. She was a small woman and fit easily into my arms where I held her as she cried on my shoulder. The damn had broke and the floodgates would be long and painful before she hiccuped herself into a calmer state.

I could only wonder if she had been holding it in on her own. Clearly she had already cried at her precious loss, but I doubted that Mr. Campbell had done anything to comfort her. She couldn't have been much older than me; five years at most, yet there was something very childlike about her. If her face wasn't so red and swollen it would have been very pretty, especially with her beautiful red hair.

I silently laughed to myself at the coincidence of my naming the baby Annie and the possibility of her inheriting her mother's locks. Well, I suppose Mr. Darcy was already acting the part as Daddy Warbucks in finding her a home.

Finally, Sally slowed in her sobbing and settled into a restless breathing. I held her still and she made no move to detach herself.

"He had promised that no one would know." She thickly murmured against my shoulder.

"I wasn't told, if that's what you're worried about. I only pieced the puzzle together."

She shuddered and held me tighter as she said, "I had begged him not to take her out, but he wouldn't listen. They'd shut me up for the latter part of my term, when I would've shown, and kept me hid away like some sort of criminal. I was scared. I didn't want to lose my position but Mr. Campbell could be ever so persuasive. Mrs. Campbell knew from the beginning, I think. She'd look at me as if I were the serpent that first tempted Eve to the apple, but I hadn't wanted to, I swear."

"I believe you." I whispered against the back of her head. She buried her face deeper into my shoulder, a small, quiet sob escaping from her.

"And now she's to be in London. I've no family in London and no money either!"

"Shh." I soothed, stroking her back. "Are you saying that you would like to be with Annie?"

"Annie?" She lifted her head and looked at me. Her eyes were even more swollen and her face matched it. "Is that what you've called her?"

"It is - I can change it if you like."

"No. Annie is a good name." She wiped her face and gave me a small hesitant smile. "I was told not to give her a name but I couldn't bear the thought of her going away from me exposed to the faeries, so I Christened her myself. In my own way. Nothing grand, but I gave her the name of Grace." Her smile grew a little wider. "Maybe you'd keep it for her? Call her Annie Grace."

I cupped Sally's face and pressed my lips to her brow. "Anything you ask, my dear, though you might be calling her Annie Grace more than I."

Her furrowed expression made me chuckle despite the melancholy.

"I have a plan."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi all. I hope you liked the chapter and all the new paths that have been laid before our heroine. I always love inventing new characters; it's always fun to see how they interact with the established ones that we all know of.

A little fun fact: the part that Sophie mentions making stuffed elephants and a classmate losing a needle inside it is actually a true story. I was eleven years old and had been extremely ambitious in wanting to make a huge elephant, the result was that the feet and tail are still unfinished and the poor thing is somewhere around with needles sticking out of it. The boy who had lost his needle inside of his elephant was quite upset about it though decided to have a twisted sort of fun by punching his elephant to see if he could feel the needle. I don't believe he ever found it. _Boys_.

As usual, leave a review and tell me what you think. All support is much appreciated as you already know and probably know from every fanfiction that you open and read. Now that I think about it, we writers probably sound downright demanding in our desire for reviews. What can I say? We love to hear back from the readers.

This weeks question (really random this time): what's your favorite song?

I'm a fan of the celtic punk genre as well as the traditional Irish folk songs. I do like ELO, Mr. Blue Sky being a particular favorite. I think I'll go with that as my answer, though it may change as soon as I listen to Celtic Woman or the High Kings. Oh, and has any one heard of the Gothard Sisters? They're an American group and not mainstream, but I love their music; so fun and beautiful.

'Til next time.


	12. Chapter 12 Being Elizabeth

**Chapter Twelve: Being Elizabeth**

 _Sun is shinin' in the sky  
There ain't a cloud in sight  
It's stopped rainin' everybody's in a play  
And don't you know  
_ _It's a beautiful new day, hey, hey._

Annie Grace's pudgy little arms beat the air in rhythm to my singing. This remarkable feat was being accomplished by my guiding hands helping her to rock out and fully appreciate the song. The smile that widened her round face into an expression of dimples indicated to me that she had excellent taste and was enjoying her stint as a marionette doll. It was hard to keep your hands to yourself when Annie Grace was in the room. A soft pinch, a loving caress, a smooth swipe of a finger against the bridge of her button nose were all actions that were extricated from the whole of the Bennet family, including extended relations. Mr. Collins, neither being sweet or gentle, was still susceptible to charm and on occasion would allow himself a pat on the top of Annie Grace's peach-fuzzed head.

Since Mr. Darcy's generous offer they had all been told, and all, in turn, had opinions on the matter. Mrs. Bennet was beside herself in raptures, proudly heralding all the good that existed in humanity (easily forgetting the Original Act that prompted the gentleman's involvement) and how the Lord smiled upon her family when Mr. Darcy (the embodiment of all that good) was introduced and welcomed into our lives. Her husband was of a similar mind in regards to the singular man; alas, the rest of humanity would have to go on living without _his_ approbation and make do.

Jane and Lydia thought it a great compliment to me, which attracted Mrs. Bennet's notice who channeled her enthusiasm into the two outlets of overall human decency and wedding bells pealing in the near future. Her never absent handkerchief was gripped ecstatically in her giddy hand. Mary saw fit to limit herself by remarking that he behaved as any Christian would, eliciting a grave nod from Mr. Collins, who was not yet aware of the connection between Mr. Darcy and his patroness. Of which I was grateful.

Kitty wasn't much impressed and mildly commented that she would be surprised if Mr. Darcy _hadn't_ a widow for a friend who lived in London.

"And why is that?" I had inquired.

"Gentleman of his sort always have an easy solution for problems that present themselves."

"Of _his_ sort!" Mrs. Bennet challenged with a pointing finger.

"What can you mean, ' _his sort'_! _His sort_ , indeed! A very fine thing for you to say, missy, a very fine thing, to be sure." The iron maiden of the time was off to the races and hadn't relented on her second youngest until dinner was announced, tirelessly praising all that Mr. Darcy did, and just as easily as she had forgotten the Original Act she forgot the small differing of views that had first set her against him.

Of the news I had divulged to them, my meeting with Sally Harper had not joined the tellings. I decided that they would not. The less people who knew, the better for the poor girl's state of mind. A secret like that in today's society would be a mar against her character forever - London or no London. And I was determined that she would see London.

The young mother had 'conveniently' met me and Annie Grace on one of our walks. I had taken great care in bundling the babe in layers of blankets which produced a rather lumpy form in my arms, nearly reminiscent of a prize potato that I proudly toted along. This potato was prone to wriggling, however, and would've given herself away as belonging to the category of animal rather than vegetable to any judge with eyes.

Sally was eager for my plan though hesitant in including Mr. Darcy into her secret. I had reasoned with her that he was a smart man and would put two and two together faster than I had as the dots were closer to connect than when I first was puzzling it out. My meaning she understood, though 'connecting the dots' had her wondering if I meant a string of pearls.

"No, my dear. I merely meant that the picture that we would present to him; Annie Grace," I smoothed a finger down her cheek while she kept herself busy in chewing on a tassel that hung from her mother's shawl; "you, it would all be a little obvious."

She rocked her babe in her arms, staying silent as she meditated over my words. At last she had faced me, looking purposefully and directly into my eyes.

"This man, this...Mr. Darcy...do you trust him?"

I smiled and pulled my own shawl tighter around my form. "With my life."

 _Runnin' down the avenue  
_ _See how the sun shines brightly in the city  
_ _On the streets where once was pity  
_ _Mister blue sky is living here today, hey, hey._

Annie Grace giggled at my poor dance moves, made even more embarrassing by the constricting corset and flouncy frock that hindered me. I had released her from her job as marionette doll, relying on myself to play the air drums in time with the music that was filling my head. I hadn't really thought of songs from my former life until I woke up this morning with Mr. Blue Sky in my head. Where it came from, I had no idea, but I had a sudden fear that I would start losing words from songs that I had listened to since my childhood and had set myself the task of writing down all the tunes I could remember and to keep them in my reticule for as long as I was in this world. Elizabeth's singing voice was a pleasant surprise - I had never been too fond of mine.

 _Mister blue sky please tell us why  
_ _You had to hide away for so long - so long  
_ _Where did we go wrong?_

"Lizzy?" A head popped into my room, floating several feet from the floor and gaining Annie Grace's attention. Her pudgy arm raised in what could be considered a pointing finger, though her round digits couldn't quite make a fist while leaving the one extended. Therefore, her gesture had more of a, 'oh, it's you,' quality rather than a, 'look. It's Jane!' exclamation as I'm sure she had intended. She made a series of gurgling noises that had both me and the floating head giggling.

"Is that so, Annie Grace?" Jane asked, coming into the room and picking up the babe. "You'll have to tell me every detail of it later, but now I have an urgent question to ask of our dear Lizzy."

The addition to Annie Grace's name had been wondered at; Mr. Bennet had remained extremely pensive behind his glass of sherry when I had informed them all of it and had given me a conspiratorial nod as if I need say no more on the matter. What he had gathered from that, I didn't bother asking. Let him spin himself a story that would give him satisfaction. He'd never guess correctly.

"Would you care to accompany us to Meryton? Lydia and Kitty need ribbons for the Netherfield ball and I should like to see if Mrs. Millens hasn't any knew sashes. Hill is more than happy to watch Annie Grace, I've already inquired."

At that moment Annie Grace looked at me, as if she too were awaiting my answer. I shrugged, eyeing her and said, "I could use new gloves."

* * *

Our purchases were made; an array of coloured ribbons for Lydia and Kitty to be fastened to their bonnets and around their waists, a paisley shawl for Jane (the closest she'd get to an Indian shawl - for now anyway), and for myself I had found a simple pair of long kid gloves that buttoned at the wrist.

Both Jane and I were pleased to see our younger sisters arm in arm again, chatting along with their usual air of buoyancy. Jane had shared with me the little she had discovered from Lydia when I had been talking with Mr. Darcy on our walk. It seemed that Kitty had been growing a little independent from her sister and her sister hadn't thought it proper of her so they had had some words.

"What's made them make up now?" I asked Jane.

"I encouraged Lydia to make amends, as well as informing Kitty that she mustn't ignore Lydia completely in her pursuit of 'freedom.'" She said, smiling at the last word.

"And they listened? I didn't peg them down as the listening sort...to anybody."

"I fear, dear Lizzy, that your temper does not lend you to ever being a diplomat." She teased.

"And I fear that _your_ temper will never lend you to being a politician."

"True, though I can readily say that I've never had the desire."

The objects of our conversation had drawn themselves (almost like two magnets pulling to each other) to a group of red-coated officers, sabers at hand. I preformed a quick scan and satisfied myself that their was no Wickham present, however my craning neck garnered attention.

"You're looking for him, aren't you?"

"Him?"

"Mr. Wickham." Jane stated.

"Just making sure that they're not talking to him."

"I don't understand, Lizzy. Why are you so against that gentleman? You still have not told me fully."

"And I can't. Not yet, at least."

Her smooth brow ruffled at my mysteriousness.

"Look," I sighed, "I _will_ tell you. Soon. Only I have to work out how to tell you."

"Surly, it is not so very difficult?"

"More than you know. When I tell you what I know of Wickham that will require an explanation of _how_ I know the information, and that's the bit that troubles me more than anything."

"You do know how to leave me in suspense, Lizzy." Jane said after a few minutes of quiet contemplation.

"Then I hope it's worth it when I do tell you."

The remainder of the day passed and all was looking forward to the Netherfield Ball that was tomorrow. Everyone retired earlier than usual, except for Mr. Bennet who sat in his library until he had satisfied his mind with an evening fill of written entertainment. I sleepily heard his heavy step creaking up the stairs as my mind slipped in and out of slumber. Annie Grace was tucked next to me and I could feel her small breath puffing out onto my cheek. She had long before relaxed into a deep sleep and I was now close to following her. Everything was still and even and I was hardly surprised when foggy images of Dan cleared into view, displaying more dreams that were memories. It was similar to a silent montage of our past. Quick images flashed in my mind's eye before they vanished and were replaced with a new one. When we first met. Our first kiss. Dan meeting Jax. Our trip to Scotland. Dan protecting me from the cold with his arms when our car broke down on our way back from Scotland. Over and over until I felt exhausted by the show and finally fell into a blank sleep.

When I woke there was a small tear in my eye. I wiped it away with an impatient rub of my finger and pushed back the dreams from last night. Today was the Netherfield Ball, therefore none of my sentimentality towards my past life was to interfere.

It was starting to truly dawn on me that this really may be it. There was no one to ask who would know. There was no way of knowing. Period.

I rose from the bed, wrapped a shawl over my shoulders, took Annie Grace into my arms, and stood by the window. The morning was clear and filled with bird songs. The busy little workers could be seen flitting from branch to branch and from tree to tree; some with twigs in their beaks, others with worms or other tiny critters. They seemed impervious to the chill air as they puffed their plumed chests to release their tuneful squawks and whistles. Fog was absent this morning, allowing a clear view of the country all around. In the top left hand corner of my window I could just make out the spot where Mr. Darcy had met us the other day on the road. I had been terrified that he was going to propose or at least reveal his heart. That then begged the simple question - why? Why was I so terrified of the prospect of _Mr. Darcy_ proposing to me? The answer could be made into a difficult one but I was growing tired with myself and all the mind chatter that kept me worried and edgy even in my sleep.

If I could so easily be transported from my life to this one then who's to say that I wouldn't be returned to the 21st century while my heart was lost to me in the 19th century.

I loved this world, I always have. I accused Dan of not understanding when it was only too late for me to realize that he understood better than anyone, even me. It was now certainly too late to tell him that I was sorry.

But now I was beginning to do it again. I was already recognizing my pattern in my regards to Mr. Darcy, despite his being the 100%, genuine, pure-breed and all Mr. Darcy of Pride & Prejudice. I was shying away from him when I have loved him as a fictional character for the whole of my life. Meeting him now as a man and interacting with him has done nothing to ruin that image, only enhance it. As strange as it was to fall in love with a man one always thought was a character from a book it was settling into my new world.

"That's done it." I said aloud, slightly startling Annie Grace from her lazy repose in my arms. Her eyes fluttered and she moved her head in an attempt to understand just what had disturbed her. She found no culprit as I remained silent during her minor investigation. When she shut her eyes again I resumed in a softer tone to myself.

"I'm done being at the mercy of my fear of this and that and whatever nonsense my mind sees fit to throw at me. I am here, in Elizabeth Bennet's body and I am falling in love with Mr. Darcy! Ha! So that's that and whatever comes, comes."

A curt nod of my head substituted as a signature at the bottom of my oral declaration. My witness was not the most reliable as she had fallen back asleep, but she was a witness.

With that leaden weight finally addressed and confronted, the rest of the day passed at a grueling pace of anticipation of what the evening would bring. The sun could not set too quickly, nor the sky take the pallet of an artist's brush and paint the heavens with the inky hue of twilight. The whirlwind of white frocks, petticoats, head dresses, gloves, slippers, and all other necessities for an appropriate appearance at the ball swept the inhabitants of Longbourn into a flurried state of excitement, sweeping us all the way to the entry hall of Netherfield.

"My dear Jane, how delightful to see you, and so well recovered!" Miss Bingley made a show of her eternal friendship to Miss Bennet with her tuned mask tuned especially tight. "Louisa and I have been quite desolate without you, haven't we?" She turned to her sister for support of this claim though had to further turn to her brother-in-law who was as unwise to what Miss Bingley was saying as his wife had been. Caroline turned back to Jane with a small screw in need of tightening in her tuned mask.

Mr. Bingley, I saw, was eagerly waiting for his turn to welcome Jane and she likewise wore a very silly smile.

"Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Bennet. Quite delighted. Ah, and all your daughters."

I managed to hide my grin as Miss Bingley's mask slipped even further at sight of Mary, Kitty, and Lydia.

"There's Denny." Kitty pointed out for Lydia.

"And Chamberlayne." Her sister added, taking Kitty's hand and dragging her along. The jostled girl looked as if she were still looking for someone.

"And my cousin, Mr. Collins." Mr. Bennet introduced. Immediately, the clergyman's gravity was felt and I was inclined to feeling almost sorry for the sister snobs at what would no doubt be an extensive meeting. "May I congratulate you on your very elegant arrangements, ma'am? It puts to mind greatly of..." Rosings Park and so on and so forth. I moved away from the gaggle that was gathering and cast my eyes about for one particular gentleman.

Watching the dancers, I was greatly relieved that Mr. Collins hadn't insisted for my hand for the first two dances but had instead focused his attentions on Mary. She was willing to put aside her book of music to engage in the 'frivolous' activity and in consequence it was with her that Mr. Collins mixed his dancing steps up and crashed into another woman.

I pinched my lips closed to keep from laughing outright but couldn't keep my shoulders from hitching up and down in mirth.

"Am I correct in assuming that that gentleman is your cousin, Mr. Collins?"

I startled at hearing the deep voice behind me and spun to face him. "You should not sneak up on unsuspecting people, Mr. Darcy." I accused.

"Forgive me. That was not my intention." He said with a bow.

"I will try hard to believe you." I chuckled, turning my attention back to the dancers. By now, Mr. Collins had righted himself and I believe I heard his profuse apologies to the assaulted lady.

"Yes. He's my cousin." I remarked, answering Mr. Darcy's original question. "And apparently not a very good dancer, though he assured us all that he was proficient in that area."

"That is why I find it prudent to refrain from such practice. Does young Annie not join us?" He conversationally inquired.

"Our servant, Hill, has that happy charge. But refrain from what? Boasting?"

"Indeed."

"Come, Mr. Darcy, you would be as guilty as any other who had, let's say a sister he was proud of, and wished to express her accomplishments. Am I not correct?"

He allowed me a small smile. "You are. Though, I fear I am not one who likes to admit their failings."

"Who is? But pride in a sibling isn't a failing."

"Only if it blinds you." His countenance faltered with his last statement and I saw that he was looking past me and at something that troubled him.

"Is anything the matter..."

I felt my heart lurch first to my throat and then down to my stomach in a sickening twist. Mr. Wickham had come to the Netherfield Ball and was as brazen as ever with Lydia and Kitty on either arm; his blood red coat bringing an undeserved dignity to his mien as he sauntered passed, giving me an insolent smirk.

"What is he doing here?" I questioned aloud.

"The entire regiment was invited." Mr. Darcy reminded me, his own voice sounding stiff.

"But why did _he_ come?" I peered around Mr. Darcy's large form and watched the trio's progress with a deep line creasing my forehead. Involuntarily, my bottom lip became victim to a nervous chewing of my teeth, a habit I had thankfully quit upon arriving to this world. But present anxieties relapsed me into it.

"Mr. Darcy..." I hesitated as I straightened myself and tried to clear the lines from my brow. I glanced up and saw that he was watching me; waiting for whatever it was I had to say. "May I ask a favour of you?"

* * *

Mr. Wickham had been inordinately pleased with his display in front of Miss Bennet and Mr. Darcy. The two young girls (one of whom he'd become very acquainted with over the last few weeks) were only too willing to attach themselves to his arms and partake in his company as he swaggered his way across the room. Their company, though childish and naive, was not the worst he'd encountered and he did love to jab where he could at Mr. Darcy. Miss Bennet's expression, however, was the cream of the cake, topping the stern manner of his old friend with one of a disapproving mother hen.

His curiosity over her had not diminished nor over the knowledge she possessed of him. With every meeting he had at either Longbourn or with one of the sisters individually he attempted to uncover more about Elizabeth Bennet. As of yet, his hunt had proved unfruitful, but he was determined. In the meanwhile, it was good fun to goad her and tempt her where the rules of society would not allow her.

"Mr. Wickham, both you and Lizzy claim to not have been pleasant with each other, but you cannot deny that you gave her a very winning smile as we passed her and Mr. Darcy." Lydia commented with a pout. She was not to be discouraged from the secret romance she had conjured up between the two persons of interest. No matter how much of the present evidence was stacked against her case.

"I was merely being cordial." Mr. Wickham insisted with a lazy smirk.

" _I_ believe you Mr. Wickham." Kitty buttressed. "Any one with eyes can see that Lizzy is besotted with Mr. Darcy."

"Rather the other way around." Lydia put in, glancing over her shoulder at the pair who were discussing something.

"And has this conjecture provide us with a date?" Mr. Wickham inquired.

"Not as of yet." Kitty rejoined.

"Besides," Lydia said, returning her focus to Mr. Wickham, "Mr. Darcy would never propose to Lizzy. He outranks her too starkly."

At that very moment there was a small cough, a good two feet above the top of the youngest Bennet girl's head. The cough, not being sickly, was designed for the express purpose of gaining that young lady's attention to bear upon the tall form of Mr. Darcy.

"If you are not otherwise engaged, may I have the pleasure of this next dance?"

The embodiment of human decency stood before the young girl with extended hand and sincerity writ in the very code of his flesh. But it was not mere sincerity that presented itself in the attitudes of a willing partner; it was sincerity with a purpose. A more powerful brand if ever there was.

Miss Elizabeth had asked this favour of him and he had agreed without hesitation. His two warring selves were no longer campaigning under the flags of Heart verses Acceptability but the Present verses the Future. In his quest of unveiling his own heart he had omitted from thought the workings of his equivalent. Had _it_ the same pangs and yearnings as _his_ was want to experience daily? Or was _it_ in a much calmer chamber where clear thoughts were allowed access to filter and formulate. He could not know. He wanted to know. Foreign to such affairs as he was, the gentleman with the panging heart thought it best to show his devotion to the object of his affections with promptitude.

Miss Lydia was too merry to work out the meaning behind such a proposal. Her mind was fettered to the small and inconsequential, and while she liked to believe she had a cunning mind, it was no more sneaking or manipulative than any other young girls with the ambitions of a well off husband. Those intentions were contagious and most always fatal. It was only those who succeeded in acquiring their expensive cure who lived to tell the tale of it.

Mr. Wickham, never to be seen without a smirk either on his lips or his eyes, now exhibited it in both regions of his face as he watched the couple join the line of dancers. _His_ mind was altogether more cunning and instantly perceived the cause for the uncharacteristic behaviour of Mr. Darcy.

Miss Elizabeth, he saw, watched on with the intensity of a spectator watching sport. He wondered if the great divide might not be breached after all.

"Would _you_ care to dance Miss Kitty?"

"Indeed I would Mr. Wickham."

* * *

The set was not only watched attentively by Elizabeth, but word had spread and circulated one time round, then two times round and then thrice times round. Alas, it was only on the forth time round that Mr. Collins made the pleasant revelation that the gentleman dancing with his youngest cousin was, in fact, the nephew of his esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. A steady hand smoothed away a stiff coil of greased hair angled on his forehead, moving it not an inch in consequence of all the grease, but no matter to the clergyman, for he had cleared himself with the gesture and was now ready to introduce himself to the favoured nephew.

The music had not quite ended when the clergyman stepped forward, and the ladies were still curtsying with very appealing bobs while their counterparts were charmingly bowing when the clergyman announced himself to the broad shoulder of Mr. Darcy with a single tap with two of his fingers. So slight a motion was easily missed, especially in the applause and excitement of the dancers. And it was missed. Mr. Collins stretched out his two preferred fingers again when his prey suddenly stepped away from him and towards Miss Lydia. The hunter was not to be discouraged. He followed him, dodging and swerving through the forest of people who were morphing into dancers as the next set began. He twirled in a full circle, jostled by the simultaneous movement of two bodies passing him in opposite directions and then leaving him with never a backward glance. The hunter, however, paid no mind to this offence, and once he had regained his balance he cast his eyes in a generous scope until they alighted once more on his prey.

The prey was relinquishing the hand of Miss Lydia and was busy casting it's own eyes around therefore not noticing the second approach of the clergyman.

"Mr. Darcy." The clergyman relied on oratory, though his two preferred fingers lay in reserve. "I have made a remarkable...I must say, an amazing discovery! I understand that you are the nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park."

Mr. Darcy neither acceded or refuted this claim, merely stared at the clergyman with the air of someone unsure of their being an answer to the conundrum put before them.

"Well, Mr. Darcy, I am happy to be able to inform you that her Ladyship was in the best of health...eight days ago."

At last a spark of comprehension as to the direction the answer may lay hidden appeared. "I am glad to hear it. And what is your name, sir?"

"My name is William Collins, Mr. Darcy. And I have the very great honour to..."

"Mr. Collins," the prey interrupted. "You are not Mr. Bennet's cousin?"

"I am, sir. And a fine family to be connected to...even if there might be more to be done for some of the daughters."

"I saw you dancing with Miss Mary earlier."

"Indeed, sir. She is the mode of gentility. Have you never heard her play?"

"I've not the pleasure."

"Then I will be sure to inform you when my fair cousin takes to the pianoforte this evening. She has brought her music book with her which shows a dedication that cannot be overlooked."

"No, I'm sure." The prey having been caught with a loose grip was on the verge of slipping away; the eyes roamed about the room, leading the head with eager interest.

"Do you look for anyone in particular, sir?" The hunter inquired, unwilling to see his prize slip so easily away.

"Miss Elizabeth." Was the curt reply.

Miss Elizabeth? the hunter repeated, grasping deeper into the meager hold he possessed. Why, Miss Elizabeth is dancing, sir; was the cordial reply. Dancing? With whom? Those two questions were what naturally followed and the two preferred fingers, anticipating their use, appeared into view and pointed in the direction of the second eldest Bennet. She was sharing the dance with Mr. Wickham, a fine fellow to be sure, the clergyman proclaimed. Either his profession in life required a forgiving eye or he had none to spare in that direction to see the most definitive opposite of a fine fellow smirking at his cousin.

The hunter, assured in his conquest, relaxed in his stance and welcomed back the clergyman to continue the vein of conversation.

"Excuse me." The prey, no longer imposed upon by the persona of the hunter, returned to the state of Mr. Darcy and walked with purpose from the hall. A little fresh air and a private moment to subdue the green beast that threatened the peace was in order. Mr. Darcy decided to return to the hall at the end of the set and not give Wickham the satisfaction he so plainly sought. Steady breathing and the clearing of ones thoughts did much in the way to calming his temper. This process was also aided by the remembrance of Elizabeth's disgruntled look at her partner.

The last string of notes were drawn out on the violin, followed by a burst of well controlled applause. He reentered the hall, slipping in silently and remaining a close relationship with the wall as he moved along. His tall stature was sure to give him away in the upcoming minutes; but he was unexpectedly pulled by the cuff of his coat, passed a small gap of an opening door and found himself in one of the darkened rooms that was not in use for the ball. His attacker or saviour had yet to be identified.

"Mr. Darcy? That is you?" The gentleman relaxed.

"It is I, Miss Elizabeth."

He heard her sigh in obvious relief. "I was so worried that I was going to pick the wrong person. I only had a small gap to see by, but you are so tall that I was sure it was you."

"I do not mean to sound insensitive," Mr. Darcy began, "but I wonder if you might provide me with an explanation for what you have done."

"What I have done? Ooh, you make it sound like a crime."

"You are laughing at me."

"Only in good spirit. But I will tell you; there is a matter that I need to discuss with you...in private." The dark of the room lessened in concentration as their eyes adjusted and he could see Elizabeth motion with her arm to the room around them, suggesting this was the epitome of privacy.

A very small pang of excitement beat in his heart.

"It's about Annie Grace."

The pang grew as the excitement diminished.

"I met her mother."

"Annie's mother?"

Elizabeth nodded. "The reason I dragged you in here was so no one might overhear. She's very wary that any should discover her secret."

"Yet she is willing to include me?"

"Well...she _did_ have to be reasoned with. I explained to her that if I brought her to you with no explanation other than 'she's to be nurse maid to Annie Grace', well I knew you'd see right through that anyway."

"That is no credit to my intellect, Miss Elizabeth, anyone would." Mr. Darcy remarked. "But is that the matter you wish to bring to me? The mother would like to remain with Annie?"

Again Elizabeth nodded, picking at the wrist of her gloves.

"That's why I've come to tell you and ask for your word that her story will only stay between the three of us." She watched him through her lashes, too nervous to look directly at him. In contrast, Mr. Darcy's eyes concentrated solely on her in contemplation, forming the words in how he may approach this delicate subject. He took an intake of breath, preparing to speak, when Elizabeth blurted,

"I know it is a lot to ask, and in case you're worried, the mother isn't wanton. The situation was more...complex than that. And she's really quite respectable," her own brow furrowed as the contradiction flew past her lips, but she continued, picking away at her gloves with increased fervor. "And I _am_ grateful for all that you have already done; I just thought that I might..."

"Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy put a hand over her own fidgeting ones, stopping them immediately at his touch. "I apologize. I fear you took my silence as rejection when I was merely contemplating the best way to move forward."

Elizabeth did not try to remove her hands from his and neither did he.

"For myself, I can promise secrecy, however with one stipulation."

She looked up at him.

"I cannot lie to Mrs. Treggels when it comes to bringing strangers into her home. She has the right to know without being deceived. I would not be discouraged," he added upon seeing the distress on Elizabeth's face. "She is unorthodox in her methods and as I have told you before, she is lonely. It would not surprise me if she were willing to take on the father as second footman if that person is to ever be unearthed."

"I hope you're right." She said with a tentative smile, uncurling her fingers from his grasp with a rather curious gleam in her eyes. The next instant, a thoroughly baffled Mr. Darcy found himself in the hasty embrace of Elizabeth with not the slightest idea of how to reciprocate, or even if he should. Therefore, his arms hung straight and stiff at his sides while his features took on attributes of the wide eyed owls.

"I'm sorry. I think I might have scared you." She giggled, releasing him from her grasp, though leaning in to inspect whether his features showed signs of fright. While they were displaying strong emotions, it certainly wasn't fright.

"You did not. Only surprised me." The very top corner of his mouth tilted up. "As you did when I saw you stand up with a particular gentleman of our acquaintance."

"You saw that, did you?" Elizabeth said, sobering. "Well, before you think me inconsistent towards Mr. Wickham, I had my reasons."

"I am intrigued to hear them." There was a mocking tone that Elizabeth picked up on with ease.

"I believe _you_ are now laughing at _me._ No matter. I accepted Mr. Wickham's offer to dance because I knew I had saved _you_ a dance. Isn't there a polite rule that if I were to refuse him than that would signify that I was not dancing for the rest of the evening?"

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat, erasing all traces of jest. "It would."

"So there you are then." She said simply.

"I believe I will have to ask for a second, however, seeing as you might consider yourself in my debt twice."

She accepted his proffered hand and acknowledged the request with a toothy grin.

"I do believe you're right. Shall we?"

* * *

 _"Soph, don't forget to phone Dan. He said he'd meet us at noon."_

 _"At the Indian restaurant?"_

 _"That's the one."_

 _Jules's voice was cut off by the closing of the flat door and Sophie was left to herself. Jax was curled up next to her and she hated to move him when he looked so comfortable, but she needed to write down her daily memo. She didn't like to do it when Jules was home in case she walked in and asked what it was._

 _Sophie rose as gently as she could, disturbing Jax as little as possible and walked to her room where pen and paper waited. She had written the same lines over and over again for months, fearing that she would forget with the passing of time._

 _"I am known as Sophie Devon. I look like Sophie Devon, but I have another name. A name that is known to all but one that I can no longer call myself. I am Elizabeth Bennet and I have traveled through time."_

I woke with a start; sweat practically dripping from my forehead and pooling between my breasts. My body was overheated and I had a splitting headache. Kicking the blankets off, I tripped over to the basin of water and dipped my face into it, not minding the wet dripping hair that haloed my face when I emerged from the cooling liquid.

That was no memory.

I was seeing the present. Elizabeth's present in the 21st century.

And she was me.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for all your reviews and support. They're really great. And be sure to let me know what you think of that last little tidbit of information.

This weeks question: What is a book/movie that you always have heard about but haven't got around to reading/watching and would like to?"

I'm waiting for my library to bring in Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. I've seen trailers for it but I don't know the story other than there being a person named Pip and a Miss Haveshim or Lady Haveshim. One or the other; I'll soon find out.

'Till next time.


	13. Chapter 13 Catching Up

**Chapter Thirteen: Catching Up**

The hour was late in the day and the perpetual fog of London cast its dark grimness in every cranny and crevice, quenching the feeble flutters of hopeful air that have strayed and lost their way from the gusting winds of the country. No window is open. Not from the slums of the alleys, where the smell is as perpetual as the fog, to Temple Bar, where two men of law sit in their rooms with cigar in hand, drink in the other, and a profusion of smoke wreathed around their heads, which in turn might be mistaken for the accidental letting in of fog by an open window. They sit, lounging in their high backed chairs, with no communication betwixt them, save for the occasional small utterances, that once uttered, join the fading smoke of their cigars and vanish from memory.

Would that they had company, a more lively scene may have been presented rather than the decadent display of languor that sets in to most of that profession. Whether it is an inherent attribute from birth, or one naturally acquired from the business of the law, is a question that doesn't much interest those that are victim to it. And if you did ask them, they wouldn't know where to begin, _I am sure!_

Such notions are better discussed at dinner parties and large gatherings of the kind where the lawyer may number one or two among the crowd, and where he may be the subject of debate but not responsible for resolving said debate. One such dinner party, though the languid lawyers of Temple Bar are not to know of it as of yet, is underway and gaining speed with as much steam as one of the railways that helpfully take persons of varying class from one side of the country to the other. That is precisely the feeling Mrs. Treggels was experiencing as she sat at her desk, pen to paper, with a quantity of ink staining her fingers, begging the question if any was even to be expected to reach the parchment. Her fastidious hand scribbled from left to right, up to down, corner to corner, side to side, and so many other patterns that her page was quite exhausted and a new one was quickly taken up to be similarly inscribed upon.

She did not sit alone. In the corner, seated in a fading pink chair (the upholstery having last been updated a quarter of a century ago) was Mrs. Peach. She sat hunched, with the appearance that she was strongly inclined to fold into herself and leave nothing of evidence, save her large bonnet, once that happy hour arrived. The only portion of her body that did not roll into itself was her right arm, which she kept extended from her side to clutch at the thick window curtains. As was her desire (and she hadn't much of those), her poorly faded pink chair was placed, not before the window, where the curtains were drawn, but beside it where she could lift the curtain from its drapery and peak out to see the dealings of the street below. From every one of her excursions to the glassed world, Mrs. Peach would emerge with the routine mutter of, "Drat! What's he thinking! Confounded nonsense!" She would then observe a five minute interlude where she would sit a little more hunched, a little more cross, and her bonnet a little more fluffed, before embarking on another journey to behind the curtain.

The clock on the chimney piece chimed, informing the residents of the room that it was half past the hour. Mrs. Treggels happily paused in her scribbling, loosened her muscles from the strain she had put on them from craning so diligently, and cast her eyes to the window where her sister-in-law had only recently dived behind the chintz. The fog lingered even there at seven Grosvenor Crescent Mews and Mrs. Treggels couldn't think what Mrs. Peach could possibly see of interest from her self-made alcove. To be sure, the lady of the house had difficulty enough in seeing the opposite row of houses and she was not terribly far from the panes.

"Good spottings?" Mrs. Treggels set down her worn feather, the single plumage was quite drooping from its taxing activity, and examined her papers with the same happy gleam of a child promised ice cream and more ice cream and even more after that.

"Drat!" Came the familiar mutterings. "What's he thinking! Confounded nonsense!"

"What is, Agatha dear?"

"Hmph? Wot? Oh, you'se a speakin' now, is ya's? Leavin' me to watch that fool of a boy with no sense to his name and no brains to his head, and you'se in a sim'lar state of things. Scratching and marking till an old wooman can't get no rest."

"I'm sorry if my writing has upset you, Agatha, but I must prepare for the dinner party."

Mrs. Peach crinkled her nose as if just the whiff of a dinner party was disagreeable to her. Her right arm protruded from her body more and her fingers clutched the curtains more tightly, signaling the imminent dive.

"Mr. Darcy will be among the party." Mrs. Treggels pursued.

The hand hesitated, and the arm relaxed a fraction.

"Will he?"

"Most certainly. Remember, Agatha dear, we have discussed this. We are to be taking in an orphan who will become our ward and Mr. Darcy is our acting postman in the delivery."

"Boy." The bonnet flapped in question.

"Girl."

"Name." Another flap of the bonnet.

"Annie Grace."

Mrs. Peach relinquished her hold on the curtain to swipe back the overreaching flap of her bonnet to look at her sister-in-law with the clear view of her squished eyes. "Two names for a child that has not _one_ parent? Cheek!" The good woman pronounced, flapping her bonnet back into place.

"It is not the doing of the child, I can assure you." Mrs. Treggels calmly reasoned, setting her papers down, satisfied with what she saw. She rose, the same happy gleam that pervaded throughout the whole of her task accompanying her now as she crossed the room to the window.

"Halt! What you'se doin'?"

Mrs. Peach, who had just dived for another go, reemerged prematurely with her squished eyes glaring at the smiling face of Mrs. Treggels.

"It grows dark, dear. I mean to close the curtains."

"I ain't done lookin'."

"But dearie, you aren't looking out the main frame. You'll still be stationed nicely in your corner once I've done here."

This point took some arguing for Mrs. Peach to finally relent and when she did, it was with many nasty mutterings of 'fools', 'loonies', and 'morons'.

"Now, Agatha my dear," Mrs. Treggels resumed her seat after having sent for the candles to be brought in and the room nicely lit. She was interrupted by the mutterings from behind the chintz of not being anybodies dear or dearie and that one should know better than to call names.

"Very well, _Mrs. Peach,_ " Mrs. Treggels assented with a girlish mock of seriousness, "I had better go over the guest list with you as you are always very particular as to who you are placed with."

"Drat!" Came the exclamation from the curtain, a ruse to discourage the thinking that the good woman was attending to the conversation. Mrs. Treggels, however, knew better and continued.

"Mr. Darcy, I have already mentioned and with him he brings a Miss Bennet. From the letters he has written, Miss Bennet is the one who discovered Annie Grace abandoned."

"What's he thinking!" The curtain cried.

"Miss Harper is of their party as well; a nanny for Annie Grace. And very nicely will she be situated here."

"Confounded nonsense!"

"Then of course we must include the gentleman."

Here, Mrs. Peach, radically detouring from her usual utterances from behind the curtain, interjected with feeling that those of the law did not merit the title of gentleman.

"Mr. Longshadow and Mr. Wosright do not detract from any form of gentle-manliness by being lawyers."

The curtain scoffed.

"But do not worry, _Mrs. Peach,_ you will not be placed by either of them; for the sake of everybody. Next we have the Arleys and the Stoles. I think they will be most excited in meeting our new addition and I know that Mr. Stole had a reason for wishing to have an interview with Mr. Darcy."

"Drat!" The curtain returned to its normal course.

"Now, Agatha," Mrs. Treggels reverted to her sister-in-law's Christian name to coax her from her glassed world and to be present for what she had next to say. "I'm thinking of putting Miss Bennet on your one side as a young girl will do much to cheer you up."

"Nothing doing." Mrs. Peach muttered.

"And on your other side I have a new acquaintance who I think will suit you very nicely."

The squished eyes in the frame of the large, flapping bonnet squished themselves even closer to hide from view the curiosity that wished to stay hidden there. The old face crinkled and wrinkled shut, blocking out all inquisitiveness with her stern features. This was her way when wanting to appear perfectly indifferent to topics that people supposed would interest her. Therefore, as her face shut up its tightest and most squished, Mrs. Treggels was sure that she had Mrs. Peach's full attention.

"She is a writer of novels. You like novels."

The wrinkled face grew more wrinkles.

"Her name is not popularly known as she goes by ' _A Lady',_ but she was so amiable and witty and she told me she found me quite delightful and would be glad to deepen the acquaintance. So you see, with Miss Bennet on the one side of you and Miss Austen on the other you'll be likely to have the jolliest of evenings."

Mrs. Peach was almost unrecognizable behind her stern, shut up face.

* * *

 _I am known as Sophie Devon. I look like Sophie Devon, but I have another name. A name that is known to all, but one that I can no longer call myself. I am Elizabeth Bennet and I have traveled through time._

She considered the words freshly written down by the neat fluidity of the ball point pen in her hand. The blue ink stared up at her, daring her to write more, yet nothing more was forthcoming. It was easier to continue with the neat four sentences she had began writing down on the third day of her arrival in the strange, modern world she found herself in. So long as she wrote down her daily memo, all her emotions on the subject were best kept in the chambers of her mind.

She smoothed back her hair from her temples, as wisps had fallen from the up-do she had it pinned in. Jules had commented on the change in style she witnessed in her friend; commenting on the changing hair style to the sudden increase of skirts being worn rather than the usual trousers. An innocent shrug of Sophie's shoulder was the only response given to the inquisitive Jules who pursued with, "You're not slowly becoming so obsessed with Pride and Prejudice that you're going to start dressing like them, are you?"

"A simple change in wear and hair style is nothing to worry yourself over." Sophie had warmly tried to reassure. Jules was not convinced but had let the matter drop with the reservation that should a full fledged transformation begin to happen then she'd be calling in some help. She had been half teasing at the time, but Sophie had worried that her natural ways and mannerisms would betray her and that whatever 'help' Jules spoke of would hardly be that which it claimed.

She pushed away from the table with the intention of phoning Dan to make sure of the time that they would meet at the restaurant. From the moment that she had met him she had an instant interest in him as he had been cautiously open with her. He had been careful in some of his phrasings, acknowledged her with half glances and was not frighteningly forward as she had found some of that sex to be in this time. She could not say that he was a replica of the gentleman that were associated with _her_ time, only that Dan was much nearer the mark than any other she had yet met.

"Hello?"

"Daniel?" She insisted on calling him, to which he only smirked and responded with,

"Yes, Sophronia? What may I do for you?"

"Oh, don't be smart with me. _Your_ name _is_ Daniel."

"And Sophronia is an elaboration of yours."

"Not one recognized by my mother, I think you'll find."

"The conversation _has_ taken a serious turn if your mother's come into it this fast."

"Not at all." Sophie chuckled. "I merely mean to clarify that we'll be meeting you at 12:00 o'clock at Bollywood Cuisine."

"That you will, and make sure to be prompt." He added more seriously.

"Aren't we always?"

"I won't grace that question with an answer."

"Very well. We'll arrive early. Before you even, if you can imagine that."

"Funnily enough, I can't."

They continued on in this way; saying much with very few words and neither wanting to be the one to remind the other that they had better say bye now to see each other in a few hours time. At last it was Sophie who, pressed with the need to make a stop at the grocery before the appointed lunch, ended the call.

After three months of acclimatizing herself to the modern age she was capable of navigating simple tasks on her own.

When she had first woken up with a white cat next to her head, foreign clothing and an entirely different body from her own, she had wandered about in a daze; too scared to react with a scream and too in awe to faint. In fact, for a time she had convinced herself that she was still dreaming, that all the bizarre sights and sounds were a continuation of that strange vision of that flashing tunnel with a girl at the other end of it. She had seen the features for a moment, but that was enough to recognize them in the mirror in the hall that she was walking down.

That's when she had screamed and woken Jules from her sleep.

Immediately after that, she couldn't say what had happened. She'd fainted and found herself in a sterile white facility where there were women wearing undergarments in public view and men not even paying a second glance to the exposed skin. She'd seen everything in a blur and from her memory it was loud, suffocating and what she would imagine a mad house to be. She remembered the warm gushing of tears leaking over the brim of her eyes and cascading down her cheeks, but at the time she'd not a thought for wiping them away. Someone was moving her about in a chair on wheels taking her from one place to the next.

A prick to her arm. Her blood was being taken.

A tight wrapping of some material around her upper arm. Her blood pressure was next to be taken.

The tears had continued in their flow, unchecked by either nurse or patient. The one, preforming her job, the other, confused to the whole ordeal.

"Soph. Shh. Soph, it's alright." A soothing voice rose out of the blurry images and a pretty face cleared into view with traces of real concern. "You don't need to cry. It's only your blood pressure they're taking."

"My...?"

"Shh. It's alright. You just stay calm."

Jules explained that she had to leave Sophie in the care of the nurses while she gave her information to the secretary at the desk. "You fainted, Soph, and I saw that you had a nasty bump on your forehead, so I didn't know what else to do when you weren't waking up but to bring you here."

After spending a good portion of Saturday morning in hospital, Sophie and Jules were finally informed that the patient had a concussion and would be needing bed rest. What followed from that was a crash course of 21st century living that Sophie cleverly blamed on her concussion. She was careful not to act completely ignorant of the odd items around her but aimed for a mildly confused expression of furrowed brow and glazed eyes. That normally would tip Jules off that her services were required.

The most challenging problem, however, was the prospect of Sophie's job. Learning the functioning of the strangely lit box was beyond her. The concept was too extreme for her to understand it proficiently, therefore she had been assigned to paper work duty and found much more pleasure out of it than most of her co-workers had expected.

She marveled at the fact that she had a job and that it was not in service, or working at a mill, or a governess, but a job that was labeled 'Human Resources'.

Despite the less than thrilled atmosphere her co-workers made, Sophie quite enjoyed getting up every morning and preparing for work.

During her time of recuperation, Jules had kindly put in her best friends favorite mini-series without any of her usual teasing jabs. The effect was that a second hospital visit threatened their horizons. Sophie had gasped, her eyes had creased under the deep corrugation of her brows, and the bump on her head, just along her hair line, throbbed in the deepest of pains.

Thus her first introduction to Pride and Prejudice proved to be as overwhelming as her arrival to the 21st century. No sense could be made of her for the remainder of the day, forcing Jules to put her to bed early. After some time, once Sophie was more sure of her new footing, she began perusing the local bookshop and easily found the novel that she sought.

She had never heard of Jane Austen. She'd never heard of half the people in the book, but those that she knew were written so precisely to how she knew them that she had to assume that they were of some historical importance. Only later did she discover that she had been in the fiction section of the bookshop.

The nights were her secret hours when she poured over all that she knew of her past life and tried to make sense of her life now. Every morning she would, with new paper, write down her message, stare at it for a minute or so, and then dispose of it; leaving a new piece of paper ready for the morrow.

After having disposed of her most recent message, Sophie patted Jax goodbye, locked the door to the flat and made off to the grocery. They had a need of eggs and milk and she'd promised to run the errand while Jules was getting her roots done. The concept of dying one's hair was novel, though fascinating.

This being one of her more regular tasks, Sophie quickly picked up the food stuff and made for the till with money in hand.

"£3.17." Was the monotone reading of the price from the girl who worked there.

The transaction completed, Sophie walked for the exit when she noticed a woman, who had just entered, staring at her most intently. She did not recognize her, indeed she had no clue as to who this person might be, but her blood ran cold when the woman spoke.

"Elizabeth?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Whatever could that mean? I don't know. Well, actually I do, but you will just have to find out, dear readers:) Again, thank you for all your support.

I'm starting to run out of questions to ask but tell me what you are thinking the direction of the story will go. Come on, give me your guesses.

'Till next time.


	14. Chapter 14 Lunch at Bollywood Cuisine

**Chapter Fourteen: Lunch at Bollywood Cuisine**

If all of humanity, with one beating heart, could ever find it in themselves to be warm, emboldening, and any other adjective that depicts the best of our two-legged race, the source must surely be found in Bollywood Cuisine. For there, there is kindness and welcome abounding; where a small part of the busy and obscure pace of London life is steadied to familial relations; where the lines of neighbor and customer show no significance, but where friendly meetings dominate and govern the cozy establishment.

The family who is the proud owner of such a jewel, are the Kapoors. Husband and wife run the business while their four children wait on tables, clean dishes, unload products, and preform other such tasks after school hours and on the weekends. Their family is a well-functioning unit, often eliciting compliments from the patrons on the pleasantness of seeing the children so involved and helpful and willing to be part of the business.

The oldest is Shanaya, who, like her mother, has the same brand of well-orderness that sees to every small detail that is quite easily overlooked by the rest of the family. She and her mother are of the mentality that if there is a mess, you don't leave it for someone else to clean - even if you are not the one who made it. They would sooner be caught taking a stray bean off one of their customers plates than leaving something to be done for the next day. Which in turn would set back another task for the day after that.

 _Which_ is, unfortunately, more common than one might expect; for, while Shanaya and her mother are known to respond promptly to any and every occurrence, Mr. Kapoor is equally as known to leave it for a later time.

The knowledge of such differing characters has easily made popular acquaintance and been the root of much friendly joking and jesting between the Kapoor family and their customers. A nod of the head and a wink of an eye aimed at a spilled glass and then another nod of the head and another wink of the eye at Mr. Kapoor, to which he only responds, "Pari will have heard it," with a hand raised and a finger pointing at the door, leading to the kitchen, in anticipation of the imminent arrival. Surely enough, with barely 30 seconds gone from when the glass had first spilled, Mrs. Kapoor makes her flurried appearance, cloth in hand, cleans the spilled water, and then, just as suddenly, retreats to the kitchen.

"How does she do that?" One of the patrons would always ask in amazed hilarity.

"It's all in the ears, my friends." Mr. Kapoor would explain, showing off his own by pushing his fingers behind them. He would then wipe his hand down his face, which in turn was proceeded by an exhibition of sudden activity behind the bar, as if that swipe of the hand had been the means of giving him momentary energy, arranging and rearranging the contents that were perfectly fine where they were.

The patrons would laugh at this too, but only for the oddity of it; never suspecting that Mr. Kapoor was hiding his own laughter at the performance given by his wife as she watched the security monitors in the back to see if her husband might topple over any more glasses for her to come and take care of. All this for the benefit of entertaining their patrons.

On the day that Sophie Devon would be meeting Dan, Jules, and Henry for lunch it was an overcast day. That accounted for the army of umbrellas that had made their way out of the racks in the halls and into the bustling streets. None were in operation as of yet, but all were guilty of being a hindrance to not only those who carried them but to those that they knocked into and accidentally jabbed in the stomach or shins or toes. Profusions of apologies were not heard over the noisy orchestra of traffic, only acknowledging grunts of half pardons were to be expected before the unintentional assaulter hurried off to cab, tube, or office building.

After being thus treated by a man in a loose and baggy suit running into a building with a revolving door, Sophie might have muttered at the sorrowful lack of gentlemanly behaviour to be found in the 21st century era of her country. But she did not mutter this; in fact, she had hardly been aware of the umbrella point intrusively prodding her abdomen as her mind was filled with the woman at the grocer's. The woman had apologized for blurting the name out, though she hadn't stopped in her staring, therefore Sophie hadn't stopped in hers.

The woman had apologized again and admitted to being a spiritualist.

A mind-reader; Sophie had asked with some hesitance. The spiritualist replied that she was not a mind reader but a healer in spiritual matters and that from Sophie she did not see that name fitting as well as the name of Elizabeth.

Is there a strong connection to that name; the spiritualist had asked. Sophie had immediately affirmed those suspicions with a cautious nod of her head. There were a few more words passed, but reflecting back on them now, Sophie could not remember what they were. She knew that she had the number to the spiritualist tucked in her pocket, given to her should she ever feel the need to talk. The spiritualist had not taken Sophie's, saying that it was for Sophie to decide when to make the connection. That she _had_ remembered from the meeting.

With trembling fingers, Sophie produced the slip of paper and stared at the numbers individually and then at the name at the top corner - Phillipa.

"Phillipa." She murmured to herself, finding a release to her whirring head in saying the name aloud and placing it among the tangible. So much of late was not of the tangible and discovering yet more outlets of the supernatural only made her want to cling to what she could understand.

"You talking to yourself?" Dan walked up to her, seemingly out of thin air, with the question playing on his face. He was not one of the many that carried an umbrella, as he deemed any weather that was not a blizzard, fair. Sophie looked up, startled at seeing him. She had not expected him at her flat, though upon looking around her she saw a thoroughfare to her right that was not one that was found outside of her home. Cars, buses, cyclists, pedestrians, and scooters all raced by, following a clock much faster than time itself. To her left was a small building with the name of 'Bollywood Cuisine' on it.

"I was not aware that I had walked here." She told him distractedly.

"Clearly. You still have your grocery with you." Said he, taking the bag from her slack grip, their fingers brushing. The contact brought her from her thoughts. She could see Dan considering her with his blue eyes squinted at her inquisitively.

"Anything happen?" He questioned.

"I...believe I may have met with a gypsy."

"A gypsy?" He curiously furrowed his brows.

"A fortune teller." She tried to clarify.

"A psychic? Did she tell you your future?" He smiled, holding the door open for her.

"No. But she was very...interesting."

"Why? What did she say?"

"...Nothing of importance," she hesitated; "I don't rightly recall what her exact words were."

"You don't _recall_ it, do you? Then how do you remember if it was interesting?" He had to ask a little louder for Sophie to hear him over the hubbub of the restaurant chatter. They edged their way to the bar, squeezing between people and tables alike, conducting their conversation all the while.

"Need a psychic be interesting for only the words she utters?"

"It does help." He interrupted.

"Or may she be interesting in of herself?"

"I'm guessing that yours is of the latter opinion." Dan easily guessed. They came to the bar where he set the grocery bag on the bar top, signaling to Mr. Kapoor.

"It is." Sophie concluded simply.

"Danny. Sophie. Back for lunch so soon. It is good to see you." Mr. Kapoor brought his hands together with a friendly bow of his head in greeting to the pair. "I am afraid that your usual table is currently taken." Mr. Kapoor told them in his thick accent. Sophie listened to him with delight; a smile spreading winningly across her face at the foreign accent she would never have heard in all of her life unless she had gone to a port town and met an Indian sailor or gone to India itself.

"But I have a very nice booth that will be open in five minutes."

"The booth will be fine, Mr. Kapoor." Dan assured. "How are your children?"

"They are wonderful. Shanaya and Diya are in the kitchen today with their mother, helping with the tables."

"And their brothers?" Sophie inquired, sitting herself on a stool that currently became open.

"At school. They have an assembly that needs practicing for."

"A dance?" Sophie asked with brilliant enthusiasm.

"Ah no. No." Mr. Kapoor answered. "Not a dance. It is something for the governors of the school - a presentation, I think."

"Oh," her disappointment was evident in her voice, though she was still happily smiling at the man. "That is a shame, though a presentation must have its merits."

"Merits. Yes!" Mr. Kapoor grinned. "And we are all very proud. You know, not every boy was chosen to be part of the...er...presentation." He seemed almost to have used the word 'assembly' but thought against it in case Sophie showed the same startling keenness for the word.

"Then, of course, you should be proud." Dan said, leaning his forearms against the bar and ordering a drink. "Would you mind putting this in your fridge, Mr. Kapoor," he said, resting a hand on the bag of milk and eggs. "Only if there's room."

"Of course! We have plenty of room. Diya!" He called to his youngest daughter. A girl of about twelve came from where she had been pouring coffee into an empty mug, smiling at the two familiar faces.

"Diya, you're looking well today." Dan smiled, handing her the groceries.

"Thank you, Danny." The young girl greeted Sophie, preformed her minute errand, and returned with a full pot of coffee. "I have told mum that you are here."

"You needn't have," Sophie said, "we don't want to take her from her work."

"Work?" Mr. Kapoor generously asked, bracing his hands on the bar top; a jolly countenance writ over his entire being. "There is no work. And Pari will be only too happy to see you." He said, wagging a finger at Sophie. "She enjoys every chance you give her to put some weight on you. What's this, Diya?" Mr. Kapoor looked down to his right to see what his daughter needed as she had been nudging his side. He was swiftly informed that Mr. Brawley's glass was empty and that he was motioning his desire for another. While Diya was competent in handling the coffee and tea, her father preferred her not to deal with the alcohol until she was older.

But before Mr. Kapoor could reach for Mr. Brawley's empty glass, Mrs. Kapoor came hurriedly out of the kitchen, a tankard of her own in hand, placed the refreshed beverage in front of the amused Mr. Brawley, and then retreated, though not before calling out to Dan with a loud, "Danny!," and a quick stop at the bar.

"You two will be with us for lunch." She said nodding at both Sophie and Dan.

"We'll be joined by Jules and Henry." Sophie said.

"Good. I will have the chance to see you eat."

"Mrs. Kapoor," Sophie responded, laughingly, "how many times need I assure you that Jules and I do eat."

"Then where does it go? You cannot hide it in there," Mrs. Kapoor said, pointing at Sophie's stomach.

"I don't pretend to."

"Then where does it go?" The good woman playfully challenged, taking delight at the becoming red tinge that arced over Sophie's cheeks. "Oh! I embarrassed you! But we'll all friends here. No. I'll stop, but you'll eat, yes?"

"Of course, Mrs. Kapoor."

"Big meal?" She nodded with wide, encouraging, eyes.

"The biggest you can bring me."

Sophie and Dan sat waiting for their booth to become free, a pot of tea shared by both of them. Sophie did little other than drink the liquid, marveling at the familiar yet foreign taste that filled her mouth. The mild spice gave the tea a very pleasant kick.

She drank, placidly relaxed for the time being. The atmosphere, though loud and energetic, served as a momentary break from her active mind and all her thoughts. Her surroundings were to busy and hectic for her to delve into herself for introspection; so she welcomed the pause of her worries and drank the delicious tea.

"Jules! Henry! We have been waiting." Mr. Kapoor drew Sophie and Dan's attention to the door where they could see their friends entering the restaurant. "You look like you've come from a bath."

"It started pouring suddenly." Jules said, fluffing her hair out around her shoulders and patting down her arms and legs to dry them faster. Henry, drenched just a little more than Jules, didn't seem to mind that his head could use a good rub of the towel. He hurriedly closed his umbrella and stuck it with all the others in the rack by the door and then proceeded towards the pair at the bar.

"Did we make good time?"

"Better than I expected." Dan admitted.

"Sophe, what happened to you? I thought we were coming together."

"Forgive me. My mind was elsewhere. I hadn't even stopped at home."

"So the grocery still needs doing?" Jules asked, taking her coat off and squeezing herself between Sophie and Dan.

"Nope," Dan answered, "your shopping is in the Kapoor's fridge."

Not long after their arrival, the booth opened and the four patrons slid into their seats with menus placed before them before they had time to settle.

"Mr. Kapoor, are these really necessary?" Henry questioned, raising his menu above his head. "We always order the same dishes."

"Maybe you change your mind. We have added new meals. Go, look. I will give you time." He then vanished among his customers. None of the four had much intention of changing their orders, but to please their host, they examined what was to offer. But, sure enough, when Mr. Kapoor returned he wrote down the familiar dishes and collected the menus.

"You should not be afraid to try knew things." He kindly said.

"Perhaps next time."

"Yes. Next time. Always easy to say next time, but listen to Pari and Shanaya about their philosophy of 'next time'. What if there will never be a next time and you have only this moment to experience something new. Do you take it? Do you let it pass and wish you had gone after it? Or do you ignore it completely and follow the same step every day, leading you to go round in circles?"

Sophie, Dan, Jules, and Henry stared at each other for a second, blinked, digested his words and then quickly reclaimed their menus until they had selected different orders.

"Good! Mother will be happy!" Mr. Kapoor, once again with the menus tucked under his arm, vanished between his patrons with the new orders boldly written down on his pad.

The happy hour of lunch continued on with a consistent ebb and flow of customers coming and going, eating and talking, drinking and laughing, while the soft tones of Indian music played over the speakers. Though the bar could only be seen from Sophie's table if they craned their necks, they could, amazingly, still hear the high squeaked hinges of the kitchen door above the hubbub, alerting them to every time Mrs. Kapoor made an appearance with inanimate object in hand to either clean, serve, or playfully smack her husband with.

Jules and Henry sat uncomfortably close to each other for Sophie's liking on the other side of the booth. His arm was wrapped snugly around her friend's waist while her friend continually rested her head against his shoulder.

From what Sophie had gathered from this era, the behaviour exhibited before her was not improper, though it still made her pause and stare longer than what was polite. She supposed, sitting in as close a booth as they were, that Dan had been respectful and kept a decent distance. She was, however, aware of his lingering looks and felt a pleasant jolt at his attention. Sophie would not bring herself to ask how it was between young men and women in this time (further than what she saw before her, that is) anticipating the answer without wanting to hear it. She knew she liked Dan, so she would interact with him how she knew and was comfortable with.

"You are staring, Daniel."

"Only because you are talking Sophronia."

"I had not been talking for the last five minutes, but eating...quietly." Said she, ignoring his use of the ridiculous name.

"I have no excuse." Dan answered with a hint of a red tint at his ears.

"I am sure you do." She grinned.

"I'm sure I do." He repeated, dropping his eyes to his plate and bringing a forkful of food to his mouth. He caught sight of her open handbag, recognizing a familiar title.

"Is that Pride & Prejudice you have hidden away there?"

Sophie glanced down and saw the peaking cover. She had taken to carrying it around with her; reading portions of it whenever she had a free moment. She especially preferred the beginning where all her family were talked of and seen through her alter-ego's perspective. Which in truth was identical to her own. The latter parts of the book held some interest for her, especially in regards to Mr. Darcy, but she rarely could bring herself to read more than a couple of pages of those bits. They frightened her, though she loathed to admit it, even to herself. There was something very surreal about reading events through her own supposed eyes and being shown that this gentleman is the one that she would end up marrying.

"It is." She answered, pulling it out and placing it on the table.

"Any closer to finding Mr. Darcy?" Dan, not a little sharply, asked. His demeanor becoming a little more reserved at the sight of the novel. Sophie noticed the subtle shift, though was not wise as to the reason of it.

"No. And I don't know if that's at all a bad thing." She in turn replied sharply, though not towards Dan. She picked the book up and unceremoniously stuffed it back into her handbag.

"Now you're just taking the mick." He said, facing his plate again.

"Pardon?"

"Don't be smart, Sophe. You don't have to hide away your book."

"I wasn't hiding it away, only putting it back. And if you think that I am...teasing you, I assure you that was the farthest from my intentions. I am quite sincere in regards to Mr. Darcy."

"What about Darcy?" Jules asked, catching on to the last word of the conversation.

"Sophe, apparently is over him." Dan remarked, not taking his own words seriously.

"Nice try, Dan." Jules smirked. He was about to elaborate, but Sophie spoke first.

"Forgive me, but how does one 'get over' a character, or at least a person from the past. Surely there is no romantic attachment."

The three couldn't help but look at her a little funny, signalling to Sophie that she had been trekking to far from what her personality should be and straying into what came natural to her.

"Am I not sounding myself?" She asked innocently.

The three heads shook.

"Not at all. It's actually a bit creepy." Jules said, eyeing her friend cautiously. Dan, however, had a gleam in his eye, one that was unfamiliar to Sophie, as he took surreptitious glances at her throughout the remainder of the lunch.

When each of their plates were cleared of all evidence of food and their stomachs were substantially fuller, Jules let out a sigh and said, "That's why I don't come here more than once a month."

"That's why you are still _too_ skinny." Mrs. Kapoor said in response to Jules's satisfied sigh, as she passed by their table, giving Sophie her bag of groceries.

As they paid the bill, they passed by tables and patrons filled with laughter and talk and one particular man who was trying to catch the tune of the Indian music playing over the speakers with a hum. The party of four, laughing themselves at the spectacle, bid the Kapoors goodbye and stepped out into the rain.

The army of umbrellas were now in use, like a sea of black pattering as the rain fell on the water proof material and dripped to the ground. While Jules and Henry kissed goodbye, Sophie and Dan stood awkwardly to the side.

"Do you think they'll come up for air soon." Dan whispered, holding a newspaper above Sophie's head.

"If they don't they'll both catch cold."

With that in mind, Sophie let out a polite cough, gaining the entwined couples attention.

"Shall we go?" She asked Jules. Her friend nodded, giving Henry a last peck.

"Well, I'll see you later then." Dan said, turning towards her.

"Yes." She smiled.

He seemed to be hesitating with something. Glancing from her to his watch and then back again, all within a matter of seconds. At last his mind looked made up and Sophie saw him advancing.

"Bye, Sophe." He whispered by her ear, accompanied with a chaste kiss to her cheek.

He was then gone, leaving Sophie to feel her burning skin with an odd racing of her heart.

"I'm going to take a bath." Jules announced as soon as they walked into their flat. Sophie hummed her acknowledgment as she pet Jax. She then put away the milk and eggs and went to her room. She sat at her desk and pulled the slip of paper from her pocket.

Again she stared at the numbers and then at the name in the top corner. It still read Phillipa. Not that she had been expecting anything different. She dropped it on her desk and sighed, pulling out Pride & Prejudice from her handbag. She had later found it in her room after her search at the bookshop.

"Who is this Mr. Darcy? And why does this Jane Austen write that I marry him." She asked herself aloud, staring at her reflection in a small mirror. No longer did dark chocolate hair frame her face in curls. Instead it was replaced with wavy golden hair that fell short of the middle of her back when she wore it down. Not for the first time did she wonder at who the real Sophie Devon was and _how_ she was. What her personality was. She wished she could speak with her to find out; to see what the hero of the book actually meant to _her_.

"Mr. Darcy." She said the name again. "He _sounds_ fictional."

She dropped the novel and picked up the paper once more, battling with herself on how much she wanted to know.

"If answers are what you seek," she finally mumbled to herself, reaching for her mobile; "seek a seer."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello all. Once again I would like to thank all of you for reading my story and giving it the time of day.

This weeks question: do you want Sophie and Lizzy to stay as they are or switch back? The outcome I already have in my head, but I'd be interested to see your thoughts.

'Til next time.


	15. Chapter 15 Wagers and Night Thoughts

**Chapter Fifteen: Wagers and Night Thoughts**

The carriage jolted painfully around us. There were no seat belts or straps to hold onto, and there was certainly no car seat for Annie whose pudgy face had crumpled together to form a very displeased looking frown at being jostled so. She was being held as comfortably as could be managed by her mother, who in turn did not have the easiest of countenances; though she appeared to fare a little better than her child. I supposed being a former ladies maid, as she was, she had some experience riding in these death traps for when her mistress had gone visiting to a friends house. However, her experience was not so well cultivated as Mr. Darcy's. _That_ gentleman sat across from us, sitting composedly on his bench that he shared with my sister, serenely looking out the window of the carriage.

I had the deepest desire to wipe that smug little look of his off his face.

Watching him sit so relaxed was at complete odds with the shaking, rumbling, and banging carriage that surrounded us. Unreasonably, I felt that I was being goaded by his calm presence and that he was doing it purposefully. Not for the first time did I cast a quiet glare in his direction, willing him to feel my eyes on him, but all he noticed was the beauty of the passing trees and the birds that flitted between them.

I was acknowledged by Jane however, who felt it prudent to give me one of her _looks._

I sighed and resignedly flicked my eyes to the very same window Mr. Darcy was magnetized to. The country road we were traveling on was meant to be one of the better ones, for it met up with the roads that crossed into London. As of yet, I had seen little to convince me that this was true. Every few seconds there was either a clump of dirt that made the quaking wheels bolt, or there was a bit of a pot hole which made them hitch. If this road truly was of a higher class, then I feared to ever have the occasion to journey on one of the less tended ones.

The cold of winter waxed with each approaching day to the 21st of December. Wraps, shawls, and muffs were piled on to myself, Jane and Sally, while Annie was swaddled tightly in a warm blanket and a soft, round hat on her head. The inconvenience of traveling in the winter months had early presented themselves to Mr. Darcy and Jane; only gradually did they make themselves known to me as I learned all that would be required for such a trip. It was not a matter of a quick drive to London and then back again. It would be a days journey, with a very probable stop at a coaching house (for Annie and her mother's sake, as well as for the horses who would, undoubtedly, be feeling rather tired at that point), which entailed that the bringing of linen and cutlery was required (a point I had to ask Jane about), and then there would be a week spent in London, mostly to see Sally and Annie settled in, but also for Jane and I to visit the Gardiners. It would not be Christmas during our visit, nevertheless, gifts were wrapped and strapped to the top of the carriage along with our trunks. Then there was the weather to consider. If it snowed it would take us even longer and if it did so while we traveled on the road, our expenses would rise for each night that had us trapped at one of the coaching houses.

But still, all those involved (including Mrs. Treggels, whom I was most curious to meet) deemed it wiser to risk the winter roads then expose Sally to months of waiting and possible discovery by her fellow neighbors. Therefore, a fortnight after the Netherfield Ball had been chosen as the date of our departure.

During that time I sympathized greatly with Mr. Bennet who had vanished like a dwarf in his cave of books and sherry and who only popped his wizened head out for dinner, and sometimes not even for that. There was tidying to be done (even though the house wasn't being visited, but vacated), arranging, corresponding, packing, corresponding, shopping for gifts, tidying, arranging and an overall buzz of frantic energy emitting from the iron maiden of the time as she burned a pattern of her scampering feet across the halls of Longbourn in her urgency of seeing everything done immaculately. She was not one to leave anything to chance and so had to check and recheck and check once more that Jane and I had packed all that we would need for a little over a weeks stay. Her mind had been much agitated at the prospect of her second daughter being the source of wagging tongues by the _oh so scandalous_ danger of my riding alone with Mr. Darcy.

"But I will not be alone," I had hastily spoken, forgetting that only Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Treggels, and myself were aware of Sally Harpers joining us. "Er...I mean - Mr. Darcy will be there."

"Exactly! _Alone with Mr. Darcy!_ Do you not see the impropriety of such a situation!" Mrs. Bennet had hysterically exclaimed from the bottom of my trunk, searching for my gloves. She had yet to realize that she had them clutched in her hand. "That is why I am insisting that your sister accompany you." She continued, giving my trunk a shake, as if to dislodge the articles of clothing from the casing.

So, yet another person had to be taken into confidence. Although the young mother's reaction was similar to how I anticipated it, she expressed a trust in me that had taken me somewhat by surprise.

"Why should it, Miss Bennet?" She had asked, recognizing the emotion I displayed in my features. She had a warm grasp of my hand, while her other held her babe. "You have shown more kindness to me in a few weeks than I have seen in years of service. My child is alive because of you. We will have a permanent place to live because of you. And we will not be separated - because of _you."_ She squeezed my hand; a smile lighting her face. I returned it and embraced her with the arm that was not being held, earning us a gurgling giggle from Annie at being unceremoniously sandwiched between us. Her mother pulled back a bit, assuring herself that her child was not being deprived of her oxygen. The smile that had lighted her face a second ago dimmed slightly as she brushed her fingers contemplatively over Annie's smooth knuckles.

"I - " she started hesitantly, now smoothing a single thumb over the pads of her baby's palm. "If your sister must know than I should like to be present when she is told." She looked up at me; her childlike features lessening as her sense of being a mother increased. "I should like to defend myself and have no misunderstandings."

I agreed to this, though I tried to reassure her that she would not have to defend anything. I explained Jane's temperament and her docile disposition as best could be done without having the presentation of the real person.

When the interview occurred, both women seemed intent on peacefully outmatching the other in a contest of silence. Therefore, I performed most of the talking (despite Sally's earlier desire to defend herself) passing details as delicately as was possible. Jane listened with an expressive face, showing both myself and Sally the compassion she felt for the mother and her trials; and very quickly did I realize that I had become obsolete as the two women turned solely to each other, a hug for the other, and tears swelling in their eyes.

Presently, I detached my eyes from the carriage window to glance at them. They sat across from each other holding a conversation about London and what Sally may think of it, as well as of how worried she had been that she would miss our carriage. I listened for a few minutes before turning my attention back to the window.

The dream I had had of the real Elizabeth living as me in my time had laid heavily on my mind for the first few days after I had had it. Very easily was I on the verge of relapsing into my fears. They were all brought before me, spread out like a neat selection of nervous ticks I might acquire should I succumb to the haunting dream. For that reason, I decidedly refused to adopt any, and labeled the vision as just another side effect of my unearthly travels.

The only annoyance that kept my normally active mouth silent, currently, was the ceaseless rattling of my teeth within my jaw due to the violent jerks of our carriage.

I kicked my foot out against the door of the vehicle, venting my frustration as inconspicuously as I could. However, I underestimated my strength as I felt a jolt of pain pulse through my big toe and shoot up my foot.

Gasping, I clutched my foot into my lap, momentarily uncaring if Mr. Darcy saw my petticoat or stockings.

"Miss Elizabeth, are you unwell?" The gentleman at last detached himself from the scenery, giving his full attention to myself and my throbbing toe. Jane and Sally equaled his measure of concern, breaking their chatting to see what the matter was.

"Have you hurt yourself, miss?"

"Yes." I muttered, bending over my sore limb as I unfastened my boot. I proceeded to rub the pain away.

Once I straightened, I saw the clear question (that might not have been spotted by many others) behind Mr. Darcy's features. He held my boot for me, tapping the heel against his leg, waiting to return it.

"I am not good with confined spaces." I muttered, sulkily, wriggling my toe between my fingers. "Especially ones that knock you about like a bucking bronco. Is it much longer until we get there?" I whined.

"We have only been on the road for a quarter of an hour, Miss Elizabeth." He informed me with a touch of gravity, undoubtedly unsatisfied by my lack of appreciation for good open road.

I sighed heavily, giving my toe one last prod before taking back my boot. As I fastened it on, I saw him raise a fist to the roof of the carriage where he loudly rapped his knuckles. We heard the coachman call out to the horses with "Ho's," and, "Hey's," their hooves instantly slowing to a trot as the creaking wheels beneath us rolled to a stop.

Mr. Darcy immediately alighted from the carriage and held a hand out for me.

"Perhaps some fresh air will restore your spirits."

It was early afternoon by now, though the dark clouds gave the impression of it being much later. There was a stirring breeze that made me huddle a little more into my wrap. Jane and Sally remained where they were, keeping only slightly warmer. Not for the last time did I wish that I had a big, puffy, winter coat enveloping me. My ears felt positively frozen encased in my straw bonnet; they were being rubbed raw.

"Excuse me." I said, arresting my light tread beside Mr. Darcy and fidgeting to undo the knot of my bonnet. My frigid fingers worked slowly and lamely, which only increased my irritation. The knot stubbornly refused to be conquered. I finally huffed out an exasperated breath and turned to Mr. Darcy who had been silently gazing at the country side during my struggle. I wondered if he was hypnotized by it.

"I need your help."

"Madam?"

"My fingers are useless and my ears are chafing, I think." I explained, pointing to the unrelenting adversary beneath my chin. "Can you please undo it?"

There was a flicker of hesitation in his stance, but he approached me and instantly I felt the warmth that radiated off his strapping form. He was probably the closest thing I'd find to a winter coat here.

Where a second ago I was agitated, I now was shyly daring myself to look up at his face. He was clean shaven, save for his sideburns that ended just below the lobes of his ears, and the chill wind coaxed a pink tinge to burn high on his cheeks. His clear, penetrating eyes were already gazing down into mine, lingering a moment before bringing his hands up.

Normally, I prided myself on deciphering his stiff features, being able to gauge when he was amused, despite him wearing no smile or when he was in a less than civil mood; that usually took place in the presence of Mrs. Bennet or when I saw him in the same space as Wickham. Presently, however, he was as unreadable to me as the bare trees that surrounded us. Swallowing hard at the brush of his fingers on my neck and chin, I tilted my head up and focused my energy on the cold air rather than his smooth touch, knowing that if I did _my_ cheeks would be the colour of the ripest apple. He worked quickly and soon I had my hands covering my ears, pulling some of my hair lower to cover the sensitive tips.

My bonnet swung in his hands, nearly grazing the grass and looking oddly like a distorted animal on a short lead.

"Thank you."

He inclined his head and offered me my offending garment. I loosely tied it around my wrist, loath to place it back on so soon.

"It's a gloomy day." I commented, taking up our trek once again. He fell into step to the left of me, humming a noncommittal answer. "Do you think it will snow?"

"It is not cold enough."

"No?" I asked, unconvinced.

"There is barely a frost on the ground, and look," he gestured to an open farmers field; "it is already melting."

I did indeed look, but from what I gathered of my looking was that we clearly had differing views as to what was a lot of frost. To my mind there was an awful lot that sprinkled the ground like a sugared cake, crunching underfoot with each one of our steps.

"But that may change before night has fallen?" I went on. I cast my eyes to the sky to see if a thickening had already started. The clouds _were_ very dark but I had to admit that they were no more than what they had been this morning.

"Of course it is possible," Mr. Darcy had to allow, giving the sky a glance of his own. "But I think you'll find it highly unlikely."

His surety that the weather would hold was as concrete as the fact of there never being a flying pig. I considered him, out of the corner of my eye, in his upright mien, walking beside me with a profile reminiscent of a sculpted Roman. This attitude, though I've seen him for nearly two months, put me in mind of how Elizabeth must have first viewed him. He _was_ a little arrogant in his tone and his currently straight face, upturned head, and lidded eyes did not help the impression of the proud Mr. Darcy of Pemberly.

I turned my head away, smiling.

"Would you care to make a wager?" I innocently inquired, keeping my gaze intentionally on the frosted landscape. Therefore, I sensed rather than saw the quick jerk of his head.

"I beg your pardon?"

Delighting in the transformation from his sure state to one of mild confusion, I prolonged my answer by flinging my bonnet back on, though making sure to keep the ribbons loose.

"A wager." I said, looking at him sideways with a quirk of my head. "You know, the passing of money with stakes. Usually called gambling." I helpfully supplied.

"I am aware of the definition, Miss Elizabeth. I was merely unsure if I had heard you correctly. I did not think you...gambled."

"No need to look so disappointed, Mr. Darcy." I told him with as serious a face as I could muster, though I felt my mischievous grin pushing at the corners of my mouth. "I am only suggesting a good-natured bet between friends, with low stakes, and promised confidentiality of the whole affair - should you lose." I whispered the last bit for added emphasis. The Roman sculpture returned to his empire as Mr. Darcy favoured me with one of his small grins.

"I see you are mindful of my pride." He said, not at all serious.

"Oh, it must be taken care of, Mr. Darcy. No use to you if it's bruised and battered."

"No, indeed. You appear to have a better understanding of it than anybody, excluding myself, of course."

"Of course." I repeated, folding myself further into my wrap. Mr. Darcy noticed my shivering and offered me his arm. The sleeve of his coat was soft and I nestled closer, resting my cheek against the warm fabric. If he had any thoughts on the liberty I was taking, he didn't voice them. He only questioned if I was ready to return to the carriage.

"Yes," I nodded, "but what's your answer?" We had turned and were now walking back to the dreaded vehicle.

"For the wager?"

"Yes, for the wager!" I exasperated, my eyes widening from the effect. "And please don't use the excuse of it being improper. The stakes could be a penny for all I care." I said, looking up at him. "I merely thought it would offer some fun to the long journey."

Imperceptibly, his brow rose with a hint of amusement. Confident that I had won him over, I remained silent, matching his manner, making sure to look as if I were _unsure_ of what his answer would be. When we reached the carriage, the servant who rode on the back, jumped down and opened the door for us. It was nice to feel the subtle difference of temperature; the slightly warmer atmosphere thawed away some of the damp that had clung to my skirts.

"Feeling better?" Jane questioned.

"I am. And you, Mr. Darcy?" I smiled.

By way of an answer, the gentleman pulled out a coin, cast his glinting eyes at mine and flipped the penny into the air with a satisfying chink.

* * *

As the hours passed, my body became more accustomed to the rolling and jerking movements that were required to keep from having rattling jaw syndrome. I even dozed off at one point, absurdly soothed by the rocking motion I had earlier been complaining about. I don't know for how long I had been asleep but Annie's wailing woke me up sharply and had me looking around to confirm where I was. The first thing I saw was a very upset baby with its head thrown back and its mouth open wide where her screams emitted as if from a deep, brass instrument.

The stop that Mr. Darcy and I had taken proved to be only the first of many, though I was not the cause for any of the later ones. Nearly every two hours Annie demanded to be fed. And what could we poor adults do but comply. In these instances, Mr. Darcy stoically vacated the carriage so that the mother could have the privacy required for feeding her child. On these stops I tried to join him, unless I was too tired or too cold, but I felt bad seeing him, in a way, kicked out.

On the occasions that I _did_ join him, we entertained ourselves by forecasting the weather. He refused, point-blank, to relent from his original claim (despite the thickening clouds), which only urged me to rally behind my conclusion even more.

"But, Mr. Darcy, even you can see the clouds looming above us and how much darker its gotten since this afternoon."

"That is the natural progression of the day, Miss Elizabeth. It is normal for the light to fade as evening approaches."

"Really?" I sarcastically replied, tugging on his arm. "I had always wondered about that. Who would've thought that it would've taken until meeting _you_ for that nugget of information to be introduced to myself."

"I only regret that it took so long."

"Lizzy, Mr. Darcy." We turned to see Jane at the carriage door, summoning us back. "We are ready to continue."

We rode for only an hour more until we came to the coaching house we would be stopping at. Both Jane and I had had a filling breakfast, but the remains had long left the pair of us with hungry stomachs. Night had completely fallen by this time and lit braziers welcomed us.

As we approached the stable yard, and I could see men running up to us, I felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness. This would be my first, proper, outing from the book; away from Longbourn and all the characters that I knew. We were at a coach house that I had never heard of, in a place that I wasn't sure of the location. I reminded myself to ask Mr. Darcy how many miles we had thus far traveled.

I was sure that had the real Elizabeth been here she would have easily taken charge and told the porters where to take our trunks and things, as it was, I stayed close to Mr. Darcy should he ask my assistance for anything. Presently, however, he was doing a very fine job of handling everything on his own. Jane and Sally, seemingly of the same mind as me, were tailing us; Annie clasped snugly to her mother.

The yard was abuzz with shouting men, running and darting boys, and a chorus of barking dogs. The flaming braziers lighting half of what we heard while throwing the other half into distorted shadow and darkness. Their half clear forms showing that barely any wore full covering coats and that many were in just their shirts with their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, exposing their skin to the increasingly cold wind.

Sally was busily covering Annie's head with the palm of her hand as she blew warm air into the cupped space.

"Here." I said, difficultly taking off my wrap due to both my cold hands and my desire to keep it on. I wrapped it around Sally and her baby from front to back so that the hems fell down the back of her shoulders.

"What about you, miss? You'll freeze."

"We'll be inside soon." I assured her, though I gripped each of my elbows into my hands and held myself tightly.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy, having just dispensed with one of the men with orders to see to our luggage, faced us and addressed Jane. "Perhaps you and Miss Elizabeth should order our dinner while I see to the horses. Inquire if they have a private parlour available for your use." He said as an after thought.

"Of course, Mr. Darcy."

Jane lead us into the coaching house, quickly gaining the attention of the inn's proprietor - her beauty working in her favour. As I had with Mr. Darcy, I let Jane take care of our dinner and was reminded, for the umpteenth time, that the differing lens of a couple of centuries, used to have me viewing Jane as a bit of a weak character who could neither fend nor care for herself because of her shyness. Seeing her now, I realized how absurd that notion was as well as being glad that she was capable of ordering dinner and seeing to a private parlour as I felt less than up to the task.

My teeth were busily chattering as I eyed a roaring fire across the room. There was an array of people sitting in groups at the clustered tables and benches, eating, talking, or just sitting with a mug of something in front of them. I assumed that had it been summer the room would have been fuller and less dreary. Sputtering candles flickered wistfully in sconces around the room, providing similar lighting as the braziers outside.

The hum of voices were low, the loudest belonging to the proprietor who was proclaiming the menu to us as well as informing us of the availability of a private parlour if we would be so kind as to wait five minutes.

We agreed to that and after placing our order, we easily found three vacant seats by the main door, and waited for the entrance of Mr. Darcy. His arrival coincided with the opening of the parlour, allowing our party to easily transfer ourselves to it, save for the small hitch of that gentleman thinking that he would not be joining us. I was quite stern with him when I told him that he most certainly _was_ as there was no one of his acquaintances here and that we were not about to abandon him in a room full of strangers. He accepted my determined invitation with a bow of his head.

The room we were lead to was smaller, yet decidedly cozier with deep green curtains that were drawn against the cold night, a crackling fire that was being stoked by a maid, soft looking chairs facing the fire, and a clean table in the centre.

"Here ye are." The proprietor said, gesturing with one hand with grand importance of the little room. "The finest ye'll find, or I'll eat my cat!"

"Oh, please don't do that." I responded, half smiling at his enthusiasm.

"Not to worry, Miss. She's not one for serving as vittles. Skin and bones she is. Can hardly find her most days."

"Dear me, is she a bit of an adventurer?" I inquired, simultaneously removing my bonnet. Jane and Sally did likewise, with the former helping the latter as the mother was loath to disturb Annie who had finally fallen into a fitful sleep. Her lips were squished against Sally's shoulder, a line of drool traveling southward, and her round cheeks adorably pronounced by the warm glow of the fire. Mr. Darcy stood at the threshold of the room, beside the proprietor, waiting for our moments chatter to end.

"That she is. Little vixen my Lady May is, though not the best at catching most things. Rheumatism, ye know, slows her down." He said softly, lest Lady May's hearing should prove superior than her speed.

"Poor lamb." I sympathized, dropping down into one of the welcoming chairs by the fire.

"Yes, yes. Here, sir!" The proprietor suddenly caught sight of Mr. Darcy, seemingly having been blind to him before now. "What's it you'll be wanting?"

"I would like two rooms."

"Two rooms, eh?" The proprietor repeated, scratching his rough hand across his grizzled jaw. "That'll be one for ye and the missus," he continued, nodding in my direction, "and then one for the gull and for...for...Miss...Bennet!" He strained to remember Jane's surname, though that was hardly what any of us had attended to. I caught the startled eye of Mr. Darcy and noticed a charming tinge of colour bloom on his face; not certain that my own was well hidden.

"You are mistaken." Mr. Darcy explained coolly. "I require a single room for myself, and one for the three of my traveling companions."

The proprietor held up his hands in surrender to his blunder with a look of innocent apology. "Forgive me, sir. Forgive me. I meant no offence, indeed no, I meant it as a compliment, I'm sure. So it'll be the two rooms then?"

Mr. Darcy gave him a nod of assent and the odd little man began to hobble off, but stopped at the door and turned back. "Beg pardon, but there's only two beds to a room. Should you like a third?"

"Yes, man." Mr. Darcy sighed, passing him money. Whether it was for the rooms or a tip, I didn't ask.

With the assurance that dinner would come directly, the proprietor bobbed his head out the door and closed it with a loud click.

"Well, he seemed nice." I cheerily said after there had been a small pause. Mr. Darcy, I saw, was gallantly keeping his gaze fixed on the fire, while Jane curiously glanced between myself and the gentleman.

We women had wasted no time in crowding round the warm, sparking embers, only our companion remained at a distance.

"Will you join us, Mr. Darcy?" I asked over my shoulder, not fully looking at him.

He stepped forward and took possession of the final seat that rested by the hearth, his somewhat lost composure returning to him until he sat easily with us.

"Would you say we are making good time, Mr. Darcy?" Jane asked of him.

"I would, and if everything decides to continue as pleasantly as we've had it thus far, I would not be surprised if we arrived at our appointed time on the morrow."

"I am glad to hear it. I would not want to keep Mrs. Treggels in anticipation."

Mr. Darcy gave a slight smile at this and said, "Miss Bennet, I must inform you that Mrs. Treggels desires nothing other than being kept in anticipation."

We giggled at that.

"Can you tell us about her? Besides that she's a widow and likes people." I entreated.

"I have already told you that she is unorthodox."

"Well, then tell us about some of her eccentricities. Give, Sally, here a notion as to what her future employer is like."

"If it's not a trouble, sir." Sally said, though she was smiling eagerly for any tidbits.

Mr. Darcy considered for a moment. "She lives with her sister-in-law, a Mrs. Peach. I believe they have lived together for many years now."

"Anything else?" I had to coax as he wasn't being more forth coming in information.

"There is an aviary on the landing of the second floor; I'm sure Annie will find amusement in that. And I believe that twice each year they hold their respective birthdays by giving a party."

I leaned back a bit in my chair, unimpressed with his descriptions. "It's like trying to get Doc Martin to tell a story." I muttered, not really intending for them to hear me.

"Doc Martin?" Jane asked. "Do you mean Doctor Martin? Who had tended us when we fell ill at Netherfield?"

"No, I didn't actually," I half laughed at the coincidence. "Doc Martin is somebody entirely different." And for the remainder of the time that we waited for our dinner I gave no further explanation while I couldn't help breathlessly humming the theme tune to myself and picturing the characters in my head.

The proprietor, who we learned was called Mr. Burnle, came before too long, our food finally being ready for consumption. The hot steaming platters were gratefully devoured with proper elegance, though it was hard for me not to scarf the whole thing down.

Annie had woken when dinner was brought in and I offered to hold her to give Sally a break. She sat contentedly in my lap, fussing with the linen that lay across my knees. It was our own linen, brought from home, as was the cutlery that we were now eating from. Well, I should say it came from Mr. Bingley's home, a fair portion of it anyway. I supposed that the keepers of these coach houses didn't take offence at the non use of their own appliances.

It was a stew that we had and it warmed me right to the bones. The meat was tender and the vegetables delicious in flavour. Bread had also been brought and I dipped mine into the bowl, reveling at the wholesome taste.

There was very little talk during the meal, except for the few times that I questioned Mr. Darcy about Mrs. Treggels some more, and he likewise inquired into who this Doc Martin might be, without succeeding in getting any answers. Jane and Sally were probably the smart pair out of the four of us, eating their meal while it was still hot and not letting it grow a bit lukewarm like mine (and I'm sure Mr. Darcy's) did.

Mr. Burnle had informed us during the meal that our trunks could be found in our respective rooms and he gave us the keys.

"Lizzy, I think I will retire. Will you come?" Jane rose from her chair and began collecting her winter things that she had discarded upon first entering the room.

"Yes." I replied, turning Annie around in my lap so that she faced me. "We're getting tired, aren't we?" I dropped a kiss on her soft brow before giving her back to Sally.

"And you, will you be coming up?"

"Oh yes, miss. Straight as you are."

Mr. Burnle entered at that moment and helpfully took charge of our dirtied plates and linens, promising to have them washed before the cock could crow his morning song.

"That is efficient, Mr. Burnle."

"Can't help it, ma'am." He told me, going around the table to pick up the cutlery. "Competition is worse than ever and in the winter - bah!" He finished with a guttural exclamation and a swish of his hand which almost made what he had so far stacked up on a tray, fall crashing to the floor. He steadied himself and gave me a look as if to say that on his deepest honour that was a rare event.

"Lizzy, are you coming?" Jane beckoned me from where she and Sally stood at the door. I had yet to get my bonnet or wrap, but first I wanted to take a peak out the window. I was careful not to attract Mr. Darcy's attention away from the fire, where he now sat, resting and digesting. The green curtains, which had a hint of a questionable odour, unveiled to me the sight of light, white specks lazily drifting to the ground. The flakes that fell by the braziers illuminated into golden stars that flickered into nothing as the heat melted those that landed on the hot iron.

With a wide grin, I pulled my head from behind the curtain and grabbed my things. On passing Mr. Darcy, I airily remarked, "Directions and weather _must_ be the bane of men."

I didn't look back to see his reaction.

* * *

Annie, having slept through the majority of dinner, woke Sally and I with a screaming vengeance; her piercing cries shattering the relatively quiet night. We both started out of bed; I out of experience from having Annie for the short time that I did, and Sally from the motherly instinct that preceded her since the dawn of the world. But even with her two attentive mothers standing by her cot, cooing, rocking, singing, feeding (on Sally's part), and all other methods we could think of, nothing mellowed the wailing banshee.

"She's not hungry!" Sally whispered, a bit frazzled. She demonstrated by lowering Annie's mouth to her revealed breast, but the little mite wouldn't latch on. "What if she wakes the whole inn?"

"Hold on." I put my hand on Sally's arm, stopping her fretting as I tilted my head up, sniffing the telltale signs of the root of our problem. "You did change her, didn't you?" I asked, suspiciously eyeing the nappy. It was hanging a bit limp from Annie's thick hips.

"Just before bed."

"Well, I think we might need to have a little looksie." I said, advancing my crinkled nose to the smelly side of the baby.

"Yes! Oh! Give her here." I motioned my arms to receive little Annie and placed her on a rolled towel that was situated, for this precise purpose, on the floor.

"Have we any fresh nappies, or did we leave them with Jane?"

As we could not be accommodated into one room, we three had decided that it would be best if Sally and I shared while Jane slept alone. And the fruit of such thinking was presenting itself to us with a very odorous fragrance.

"Um...I'm just looking. I'm sure I put them in with Annie's blanket..."

"I moved the blanket." I told her between gasps as I dexterously unpinned the soiled nappy and flung the contents to the corner of the room where the chamber pot was.

"Sally, hurry up!" I added over my shoulder, wiping a loose strand of hair away from my face with the inside of my elbow. Annie, no longer being trapped with her own feces, had quietened down considerably and was happily kicking her legs up and down.

"Oh, Annie, stop doing that. You're wafting it." I had trouble containing my gag reflex and the sudden urge to cough was overwhelming.

"Found them!" Sally's triumph was immediately quelled when she approached and had the misfortune of smelling her baby.

"Lord. What'd she eat?"

I refrained from answering as I knew what awaited my poor senses if I did. Silently, I took the required tools for the job and set to work. She squirmed a little, but I held her feet firmly together and cleaned her up in a jiffy. Sally sat down by her daughter's head and kept her occupied on that end, by holding her small hands and waving them up and down.

Strangely, I was reminded of the time I had helped my mum groom a neighbor's dog. He was arthritic and very particular about his legs being touched. This meant I had to pet him and give him an impressive ear rub so that mum could get on wit trimming his backside.

Annie wasn't as temperamental as that old dog, but she was a right little fussbudget.

"There we are." I said, taking a proper, grateful breath. "All better."

Annie lay smiling on the floor, looking for all the world as innocent as if she had no part in it.

"How did we not smell it at first?" Sally pondered. She lifted Annie in a swoop and was rocking her gently, easing her back into the baby's former sleepy state.

"We're right above the stables." I surmised, having heard the men's shouts and the horses braying when we had first entered the room. Indeed, there was one particular horse that was demanding, Lord knows what, but he was demanding something for half the night.

She mutely nodded her head with a sleepy smile of her own. The effects of the active interruption of the night were beginning to rub off and Sally heavily made her way to her bed where she, still with Annie in her arms, lay down and fell into a deep slumber. Her child following mere seconds later.

I smiled at the scene as I washed my hands in the basin of water. It was meant to serve us in the morning, but another could easily be fetched. In fact, I had a sudden thirst that wanted quenching; a distasteful dryness was in my mouth. It had been brought on by another of my odd visions; a dream about Bollywood Cuisine and meeting a spiritualist. I wondered at it, but as I had promised myself, I pushed it away with no other thought for it than what a strange life it was.

Noiselessly, I tip-toed to Sally's bed and calmly extricated Annie from her arms. Both remained asleep, though I waited frozen for a few seconds to make sure that no movement on my part would disturb them further. Nothing.

Releasing a breath that I had been holding for completely different reasons than a few minutes before, I tucked Annie warmly in her cot, pulled on my wrap, and stepped outside of our room.

I reasoned with myself that a maid still had to be up and about as this was a coaching house and could expect customers at any hour. And if one could not, I satisfied myself with the fact that though I wore a nightgown, _I_ did not consider myself to be indecently attired. I would go straight down to the bar and politely ask for a glass of water and if there be stares it will be from strangers and people I will likely never meet again. My confidence bolstered, I stepped away from the threshold of our room where I had been hesitating. I took the candle we had lighted when we were first woken by Annie, and held it straight out and extended before me. It cast an orb of light at eye level, roughly showing me the path of the hall, but everything below the line of my chest was obscured in darkness. I couldn't even see a clear outline of my feet.

Cautiously, I walked a few paces, taking care to keep a hand on the wall as a second guide. I could feel, as well as see, that I was passing another door when something skittered into me, gave a frightful yelp, and then was off as quickly as it had come, leaving me to be swallowed by the bleakness of the hall.

* * *

It was well into the night before Mr. Darcy fell asleep. The rather lumpy mattress lacking in soporific tendencies. However, that had not been his main complaint when his head hit the pillow and his eyes remained open. Each moment spent in Miss Elizabeth's company wore him down like the eroded rocks seated at the river banks; helpless to move and save themselves from the stripping of ones deepest secrets from the coaxing waters.

She was both coaxing and wearing him down, leaving him to contemplate serious measures to end his agony. Such considerations had long pestered him until he arrived at the conclusion that social standing and his aunts approval were no longer his priorities. He would follow the path he made himself, not one that had been mapped out since his infancy.

His only hesitation now in proceeding down the path he so fervently wished to walk upon, was the simple matter of asking Miss Elizabeth for her hand. His happiness rested on her answer, as equally as did his despair should she reject him. His courage waxed and waned but he knew that ultimately he could not remain in this limbo much longer.

He had lain in bed, staring up at the rafters, playing different scenarios in his mind of how he could approach the sensitive question. Eagerly had he contemplated proposing on the morrow as a result of having stirred himself into an excited energy for the last hour and a half, but as he considered the exposed beams, seemingly relying on the wisdom of their knotted grains that have witnessed many fellows in similar turmoils, he thought better of it. He decided that it would not do to declare himself while traveling; her attention would be split between attending to him and holding herself fast in the carriage that she found so disagreeable.

He could not help smiling at the remembrance of Miss Elizabeth's annoyance. He had felt her eyes on him as he determinedly stared out the window, apparently watching him for a reaction. But sensing her harmless ire grow had been far more amusing than to give her the satisfaction of turning towards her. At the moments that she had looked away, he snuck half glances at her and was subsequently charmed by the crinkling of her nose and her sparking eyes that uncovered to him a fiery spirit.

If he were to have her full attention, he reasoned with himself, it would have to be once Annie and her mother were settled at Seven Grosvenor Crescent Mews in the care of Mrs. Treggels. By then, he knew, her mind would be much easier and hopefully more willing to hear of his love.

A week more. That was bearable. He could wait.

He was only grateful that neither of Mr. Bingley's sisters had been of the party. He had been aware of their endeavors of joining, but he had given no encouragement and when the time came for their departure, it was clear to all that the present company was all that was required for the journey.

His mind, relatively eased by these reflections, had finally fallen into a doze that hadn't lasted longer than five minutes when a loud bang woke him with a start. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at the door where he heard a grunt of pain and a few whispered curses.

In one movement, he had risen from his bed, donned his robe, produced a lit candle and advanced towards the door. Of all the threatening creatures he had expected to find, Miss Elizabeth, hopping on one foot while holding her other, had not been among them. She was clad in only her nightgown; her hair, loose and falling about her shoulders, cascaded down her back in a tangled mess that was quite alluring and forced Mr. Darcy to look fixedly at her face.

The suddenness of his appearance seemed to startle her even more as she wobbled backwards and had to be caught before slamming into another's door.

"What are you doing here?" She whispered accusingly. Having regained her balance, she was standing steady now and tentatively tested her injured foot on the floor.

"What am I...? Madam, I think you have the question backwards. It is _I_ who should be asking _you_ what you are doing here." Mr. Darcy returned, matching her whispered accusation. He still had hold of her arm which they seemed to realize simultaneously. Softly, he dropped his hand back to his side as she mindlessly rubbed the spot as if to trap the warmth he had briefly shared.

"I was trying to find a maid." She answered.

"With no candle?"

"No, I had a candle," she quickly retorted, "but it blew out when something ran into me."

"Something?" He quietly questioned.

"Yes, something. I think it may have been Lady May."

"Whose Lady May?" Mr. Darcy did not remember hearing of any lady that evening and he was positive that if there had been one, she wouldn't be haunting the halls of an inn in the middle of the night.

"The cat. Mr. Burnle's cat."

"The one he can never find?" He remembered.

"Bingo."

By the dim light of the candle, he could see Miss Elizabeth's amused expression as she watched his baffled one.

"I think I heard the poor thing hiss as it disappeared down the hall." She said, looking in the direction the cat had gone. "Serves it right. It made me bang my bad toe into your door."

"Hmm." Mr. Darcy hummed. After everything he had thought of that night, after all the anxiety of what her answer might be, it was the hardest thing to keep his mouth silent on the one subject he was most eager to approach. If his knees buckled, he knew he'd be lost.

"Well, I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Darcy. I hope I didn't scare you too much."

"Not at all."

Without a word, she suddenly crouched down and began feeling the floor. Unsure of this, Mr. Darcy followed her likewise. He held the candle aloft and away from their faces. Very aware, was he, that his knees were bent, but so were hers, he reasoned with himself, and very clearly she was searching for something.

"Have you lost anything?"

"My candle." She said through her curtain of hair. Her head was bent low, looking in every direction it could have toppled to.

Bringing his candle lower, they saw the worn wood, spattered with many stains of having housed many differing persons of class and position over the years. Against the chipped trimming on the far side of the wall was the lost candlestick.

Miss Elizabeth reached over and grabbed it, thanking Mr. Darcy for his help. Upon standing, they brought the two wicks together, restoring Miss Elizabeth to the use of her candle.

"Goodnight." She whispered, that quirk of her lips just visible from the shadows the flame threw on her face.

"Goodnight." He returned, a little hoarsely.

She was just turning when a thought occurred to her and she was facing him once more.

"By the way, you owe me a penny."

Mr. Darcy, considerably eased from his heart pangs by her mischievous turn, smilingly shut his door and returned to bed.

* * *

The following morning had gone much smoother than any of us anticipated, I think. Though it _had_ snowed, it had only turned out to be a light dusting, therefore we were free to traverse the roads once again. Lovely.

Annie was checked and double checked to make sure that we had no surprises for at least two hours, and I was quite happy to let Sally do the honours this time around. Our luggage was loaded back on top of our carriage. Our linen and cutlery, too, had been washed by the friendly Mr. Burnle himself, and in added compensation for his services, I told him where he might find Lady May skulking.

Everything was ready, we had all breakfasted (Mr. Darcy and I finding it extremely difficult to make eye contact), and so we were off. I was not sure if the gentleman's lack of communication was due to his amusement at last nights events (as mine was) or if he was looking at it all in a more serious light and was embarrassed to look at me now since the last time he had done so I had been in my nightie.

Resolved to break the silence, I addressed Jane first, doing my best to keep my teeth from rattling as we drove down the road. "Did you sleep well, Jane."

She looked away from the window and smiled at me. "I did, indeed, Lizzy. Thank you."

"I hope Sally and I did not wake you." I continued, nodding my head in the blushing mother's direction.

"Oh yes, I feared we might have woken the whole place." Sally apologetically remarked.

"Dear, that would've been something." I commented with as neutral a tone as I could manage, but apparently my sister had caught onto the trail. As I was still facing Sally, it was from the corner of my eye that I saw Jane beginning to get into position to give me one of her infamous _looks_. I do believe that the real Elizabeth was never so honoured as I to be the recipient of so many such _looks._ I had to restrain myself from smiling outright at my sister's ability of so well perceiving my unladylike intentions.

"Though I think it safe to assume that not even Mr. Darcy had heard Annie," the _look_ was gearing up. "And he was only a little way down the hall. How did you sleep, Mr. Darcy? No interruptions, I trust?"

"None." He said flatly. His face was as straight as a pole, yet I detected a glint behind his unblinking orbs.

"I am glad to hear it."

The _look_ was on full duty now, desperately trying to catch my attention.

"And, in your...restful sleep, were you reminded of anything?" I was pleased to see the glint subtly growing and was assured that his reasons of avoiding eye contact this morning had been the same as mine.

He tapped his fingers on his crossed legs, considering my words with an almost playful expression. Slowly, he shook his head as if he were at a loss at what he might have been remembering.

"No?" I questioned, continuing to ignore the useless _look._ "That _is_ surprising." I strained. We eyed each other for a long moment, neither of us quite smiling, Sally watching on with a gurgling Annie in her lap, Jane sighing and putting up her _look,_ hopefully for a long holiday, and Mr. Darcy and I slowly drawing the other out. I'm not sure which of us was the victor, but I considered myself to be, for the gentleman drew out of his pocket a single penny.

"Really, Lizzy." I heard Jane mutter quietly.

Mr. Darcy reached for my hand and held it palm upwards.

"Your winnings, Miss Elizabeth, and for all our friends to see."

"Thank you." I made to take my hand away, but he held it firmly. Looking up, I saw all traces of humour gone. His earnest gaze was as piercing as any needle, watching me with a quiet intensity that I was sure was being missed by the other two. It was only a second, a mere passing moment, but I felt more gooseflesh cover my body in that instant than in any of the winters I've yet lived through. His hand was solid, warm around mine and when we did part, our fingers brushed to the very tips.

That interaction alone chastened me more than any of Jane's looks could, and for the remainder of our journey I was sure that my beating heart would give away my secret. Not even my dislike for the carriage was strong enough to move me.

Only did the approach of the looming city, wreathed in fog, and looking as foreign as it did familiar, garner my attention. We had arrived in London.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi all. We're back to Sophie and Darcy and their burgeoning romance. Keep the reviews coming and thank you for all the support that you have already shown.

Which by the way isn't my name, in case you were thinking that. My name _is_ in there, but only half of it and the half is only my shortened name. See, you learn something new everyday:)

This weeks question is: which one character would you like to see dropped into another, completely different story?

'Til next time,


	16. Chapter 16 The Truest Forms of the Heart

**A/N: *Nervously peeks head around corner* What can I say? There really isn't any excuse for my over a year long absence. But I'm going to give you one anyway. I first got distracted when my mother was getting a hip replacement. I know, I know. Bring out the sob story to try and win you over, but it's true! She got it May of 2017 and she hasn't looked back since.  
My other excuse (and probably my more valid one) is that I had written myself into a corner with the sudden appearance of Jane Austen. As much as I enjoyed writing the shock value to that, I didn't know how to go forward from there so I left it. This story never left me though. It was always in the back round, annoyingly reminding me that I was leaving it open and with such great readers in the lurch. So, eventually I came to the realization that the only way I could see movement in this story again was if I axed Miss Austen's cameo (sorry about that Jane, dear) and got back to the heart of what I was trying to write before it went all doo-lally. **

**This new chapter sixteen is for the most part the same as the original except the end is completely different. And since it has been well over a year, I recommend reading it whole anyway just to familiarize yourself with the old gang.**

 **I'd like to give a shout out to the anonymous guest who left me a review just before I left the scene. They warned me that I was spreading myself too thin with all these OC's and boy were they right. With every story of mine I have a rough outline of how I want it to play out, but when I get to the actual writing of it all these possibilities present themselves and are sometimes too good to resist. I think I have learned my lesson, though, and will refrain from chasing every rabbit down the rabbit-hole. The trip to London will be over by the end of chapter 18, beginning of chapter 19, I'm gauging, and then it'll be back to Longbourn where a few surprising developments await, not only you lovely readers, but Lizzy and co. as well.**

 **Again, I am very sorry for such the long wait.**

 **Now, without further ado . . .**

 **Chapter Sixteen: The Truest Forms of the Heart**

The City was as much a picture of home as it was an alien plane. Its smallness contrasted with its bigness, and its black skies were greasier than any atmosphere I had ever experienced in its future counterpart. London's circumference was the most noticeable difference to me as our carriage rattled towards the dark cloud. Areas I had been familiar with on the outskirts of the City were now open land that broadened into suburbia. Nearly identical homes lined the cobbled streets, housing (by the looks of the miniature stateliness) the well-to-do upper middle-class. Upon passing one of the dwellings, I was pleased to see some variance shown from the stagnant row of staring houses, by a middle aged man walking out his front door. He was attired in the picturesque dress of any successful career man, with a high hat, stiff cravat, shining buttons on his waistcoat, glinting cuff-links of a silver tint, ironed trousers with a perfect crease, buffed and polished shoes, and to finish the extremely proper dress, he had by his side a cane that was as glowing as his buttons with an ivory handle (or so it appeared) that he clutched loosely as he tapped the end of it on the ground beneath him. His whiskers, though streaked with some grey, were as groomed and tidied as one would expect, sitting roundly and fully on either side of his face.

I was not quite ready to lose sight of him as I was greatly amused by his look, and as my quick inventory had not supplied me with all the details I wanted to observe, I poked my head out of the window to look back at the successful career man. He was whistling a tune to himself, which only accentuated his plump facial hair growth, as he expanded his cheeks to blow air out from his pursed lips. He was distracted, however, by a second person walking out his front door and calling out to him. It was a lady this time, and she held above her head, waving it desperately in the mode of its containing great importance, the morning paper. I did not catch what words passed between them, but there was clear affection shown by a soft pat given to her cheek as the relic transferred hands.

I was unable to study her dress as minutely as I had her husbands, for she darted back inside in an instant and shut the door behind her, but I was fairly certain that I had seen a forgotten ribbon of curled hair bobbing on the back of her head as she had retreated to her home. Her husband was now complete with the printed paper tucked neatly beneath his left arm and his resumed puffed whiskered countenance of his whistled tune.

As we advanced on the road, we passed out of the district of cookie cutter homes and pressed on until we were surrounded by the bigness of towering structures that blocked out all the light of the mild day and held us in the roots of the traffic, noise, smell, dirt, and dust that collected at the bottom of the pinnacled roofs that almost rose above it all into the clear air. Though we were passing through the West End, the wealthy neighborhood still had to contend with its share of city grime and pollution. At various points we witnessed horses ignoring their masters' pressing orders to answer the more urgent call of duty, and in doing so, stop up an entire road and by-way until the last of the droppings had fallen. The new smell mingled with the already existing odour pervading the City and was to be acknowledged with a slight crinkling of the nose, if at all.

"You've some competition, Annie." I muttered quietly, trying my best to not pull a face or gasp in repugnance. I delicately unearthed my handkerchief from my reticule and pressed it to my nose, feeling more than a little ridiculous at myself, especially since I had always rolled my eyes at the ladies who appeared so fragile as to be unable to handle a bad smell in the period pieces I watched. It was more than just the smell of manure - which, after living in the country for nearly three months I had grown accustomed to - but the added presence of humans living so closely to one another, literally stacked and packed like sardines, without proper hygienic methods of staying healthy or clean. The reality of this put a bit of a damper on my plans of wanting to explore the City, even the poorer bits that had captured my imagination when I had learned that I'd be going to London. The small influence of having read Dickens' Little Dorrit had sparked the adventurer in me and cast hopes of possibly meeting the brand of eccentric characters that he had written of. But if I was struggling through the West End, I feared what the stench of the East End would be like, and then there was the question if I would be allowed to slip away for such an excursion on my own, for I greatly doubted that either Jane or Sally would wish to accompany me - yet there was still a spark of curiosity that started a mental debate in the back of my mind as I continued to watch what passed out the carriage windows.

Gradually, I lowered my handkerchief as I acclimatized to the climate and sat perched on my seat, looking with all the wonder of a small child in a shop full of sweets. The snow that had fallen the night before had horribly been unable to keep its natural form or colour, but was reduced to dark sludge that was washed up and swept to the sides of the streets, in ready waiting to capture the unwary pedestrian's foot, in its cool grime, as they stepped off the kerb. I'd have thought that these Regency Londoners would've anticipated such natural traps that the metropolis set against them, but lo and behold, I watched as handfuls of walkers had to yank their feet from the mutated snow and discreetly shake themselves dry before cautiously preceding. This they did with measured downward looks as they arched their feet over their offenders, and continued on their way with glances backwards as if they feared that the enemy would suddenly spring up, animate, and chase after them, determined to sully the rest of their garb.

We turned out of one of the narrower streets and onto Piccadilly where I felt safe enough to peak my head out of the window once more, as the carriages were not so close together and not in danger of separating myself from the rest of my body. The wide road sent up a chorus of carting wheels, creaking, quaking, groaning, straining, and so many other noises that I could not identify them all. There were coachmen everywhere, sitting atop their wooden charges in varying degrees of alertness. Those that had the care of private carriages, like our own, sat stiff and pompous in their livery, while the drivers of the stagecoaches and mail-coaches sat slouched with the brims of their hats hazardously low, and their ruffled capes seeming to be all there was of them. The latter of these vehicles raced by with all the intention of starting up their very own 1816 special of Top Gear. They were the fastest carriages on the road, and comparative to the vehicles around them they were the sport cars of the City. The royal insignia of the crowned lion and chained unicorn was blazoned on their doors, as well as having numbers and letters painted on their front and rear. I don't know what they signified, perhaps the districts they were stationed to, but they sped by in such a clatter of hoof and wheel that I couldn't see clearly what any of their symbols said.

"Lizzy, don't lean out so precariously. It is dangerous."

Jane lightly tugged on my arm, pulling me back to sit fully in my seat.

"You act as if you've never seen London before." She smiled with amusement.

"Well...there are so many people to observe that I don't want to waste a moment of it." I supplied, which was not a lie, only it wasn't the full truth.

"Even your handkerchief."

"What about it?" I asked looking at it in my lap.

"You've never had use for it before when we have visited our aunt and uncle."

"No. So I haven't." I cast my eyes to the side in search of a probable answer.

"The streets are very dirty today. No doubt you are feeling the consequences of it." Mr. Darcy suggested. It was the first he had spoken since he had held my hand and put the penny in it. He was looking at me, and I at him with more meaning than we had once previously shared.

"Possibly. Though, I think the more likely case is that I simply wanted to smell the scent on my hanky." I quipped in good humour.

We drove only a little further, turning at last onto Grosvenor Crescent Mews and stopping before number 7. The house was a new one, and had yet to acquire the habitual wear that Time would furnish it with. It was neat, tall, a bit wide with steps leading up to it and pillars on either side of the dark front door. Iron grating extended on either side of the majestic focal point, dividing the private path, that was for the servants' use to the basement and kitchen, from the bevy of the street traffic.

We were handed down from the carriage by the footmen who had jumped from their posts on the back with nary a drop of mud on their uniforms. Mr. Darcy and I were just waiting for Jane and Sally to join us on the pavement when our attention was drawn by the loud unbolting of the door behind us and the subsequent holler of greeting.

"Mr. Darcy! You are as punctual as an old grandfather clock, and I am satisfied. You know me, patient as a saint, but I feared that I would be riddled with worry on this occasion as I have been so anxious to meet my ward. But I am remiss - you must be Miss Bennet, one of them at least, you will have to inform me of which once I have done with my prattling. Something you must forgive me for. When I am excited I find it quite beyond my control to say less than two words apart - or is it together?" The woman, whom I could only assume was Mrs. Treggels, momentarily pondered, though her wondering was done in a second as she returned her attention to me with an open smile.

"Mrs. Treggels, may I present to you Miss Elizabeth Bennet - "

I bobbed a cordial curtsy.

"Miss Jane Bennet - " Mr. Darcy continued, extending the introduction to our other traveling companions who had come up behind us during the time of Mrs. Treggels' fluttered introductory speech.

"Miss Sally Harper, and with her, your ward, Annie Grace."

"Oh! What joy!" She rapturously exclaimed, taking a hand of mine and a hand of Mr. Darcy's (we were nearest her), and I was quite convinced that had she arms enough for the task, she would've gladly taken each one of our hands, including the footmen who were entertained by the ecstasies displayed. As it was, she sweetly called to them to be gentle with our trunks, and that when they were done depositing them there was tea and biscuits waiting for them in the kitchen.

"Now come in, come in, and let me look at each of you. New friends are the best, but four all at once is quite something else. I hope I show my full and undivided attention to each one of you and if I am remiss in my duties as hostess you must not feel embarrassed in informing me. There is nothing I dread more than an inhospitable hostess. But, here I go prattling on again and not leaving any air for you to take breath in, let alone to tell me about yourself. Silly fool that I am. I must clamp my mouth closed together and keep a steady hand over it." And she did just that, eliciting a surprised giggle from all of us women. Mr. Darcy merely smiled in a way that showed his familiarness with her ways. She had led us into a front sitting room with a view of the street and had promptly motioned for all of us to take a seat. There was a warm fire glowing in the corner of the room, throwing sparks and glimmers off the array of china on the tray and dumb-waiter situated around the chairs that we inhabited. It was placed almost in the centre of us all so that there was easy access in serving ourselves, as that was clearly meant as the intention. We all partook, warming ourselves with the comforting liquid that cured all the chill we had collected on our night long journey from Hertfordshire. Mrs. Treggels had taken her cup with a single, deft hand while she still held her other covering all hints of her mouth.

"Are you sure that's quite necessary, Mrs. Treggels?" I curiously inquired. She nodded expressively with wide eyes, imparting to me the seriousness of her conviction that if she were to take the fleshy barrier away, her tongue would be flying without mind to the minutes pause that had thus taken place.

"Come, Mrs. Treggels," Mr. Darcy said, "we do not want a mute hostess. That would be worse of all."

The hand detached itself from the uncontrollable mouth in a shot and joined it's fellow partner in grasping the delicate teacup.

"You're quite right, dear. How unthinking of me. I am ashamed."

"Don't be that, Mrs. Treggels." Said he, affectionately taking her hand in his.

"I am quite spoilt by your attention, Fitzwilliam, and quite restored." She chirped.

I smiled into my tea at the use of his first name, having never quite lost the giggles upon hearing the formal brand.

"Now that we're all sitting here, cozy and warm, and I can see dear Annie sitting in Miss Harper's lap, and the two lovely Bennet sisters brightening the room with more effect than any fire, and with my dear friend, Mr. Darcy by my side, I feel my initial excitement leveling and my ability for even conversation commencing." She took a sip of her tea, returned it to it's saucer, placed it on the dumb-waiter, smoothed her skirt, and then faced her guests with open ears.

We talked easily and spoke of many things. She was particularly interested in my discovery of Annie, and once she was assured that all those in the room were aware of the child's true parentage, went on to delicately inquire into Sally's state of being and promising her complete discretion as well as a willing bearer to share her troubles with, should she wish it. Sally looked overwhelmed by the kindness - her eyes were growing noticeably moist - providing enough invitation for Mrs. Treggels to join her on the love seat and put an arm around her.

"Now, my dear, I don't mind tears. Not a bit of it. But we'll have no tears of gratitude, shall we? We're friends here and what I offer is what you would do for me without hesitation, I am sure."

"Oh yes, Mrs. Treggels." Sally sniffled, quickly wiping her face and drying her eyes with the proffered handkerchief of the lady's. "I would do the same for you, and for Miss Bennet, and Miss Elizabeth, and for Mr. Darcy...for he was ever so kind in arranging the whole thing." She whispered the end of her sentence.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy is prince among men." Her new friend whispered back.

I caught the gentleman's eye and rose my brows in pantomime of the sentiment, delighting in his hasty withdrawal of his gaze as he concentrated strongly on the fire, his complexion glowing ever the rosier.

"And however much he assumes a stern countenance, I know not to be discouraged," Mrs. Treggels spoke to us all, but looked pointedly at her subject's turned head with a glint of merriness. "For he is never far from enjoying a well told joke or - "

"Yes, my dear Mrs. Treggels," Mr. Darcy interrupted with faint exasperation; "you have flattered me enough to last the whole week of our visit. But let's not bore the young ladies with myself, for I have it on good authority that they are very anxious to know of your own character."

"Oh, my dears," our hostess exclaimed, after Mr. Darcy had proficiently manoeuvred the line of discussion away from himself. "Whatever you wish to know only ask. I am as open as a book, they say, with not a secret hidden between my pages. Of course Mrs. Peach is another matter entirely. She's more closeted than a broom and a dish-cloth. I sometimes entertain the fanciful notion that her secrets have secrets and that all the while they build upon the other with never a rest. I'd find it exhausting myself," she admitted in tones of weariness, suggesting that the mere thought alone of hoarding such secrets was more than she could bear. "...to always be on the lookout of someone trying to weedle their way into my knowings. It would be just the thing to put me out of sorts, I shouldn't wonder. And that is why, I believe, Mrs. Peach is so very close about anything she may be asked to elaborate on. But there I go again - off to the races - I am most apologetic, for I have not even introduced you to Mrs. Peach, nor told you who she is. Your curiosity must have been running to the ends of your hairs. Oh! You _do_ know who Mrs. Peach is." Our hostess said after being informed by Jane that Mr. Darcy had mentioned her to us. "Then we mustn't waste anytime in bringing you before her. That is, if you are all quite done with your tea."

We were, and even if we hadn't been, we would've claimed the same verdict as our curiosity nearly was at the tips of our hair at our hostess' description of her sister-in-law. She was once again leading us, a train of wide-eyed watchers, up the main stairs and past many rooms that were all opened for our viewing pleasure. I could not imagine that the two widowed women occupied all the rooms that presented themselves to us as we passed them, and I realized that they did not, but neither were they kept concealed under dusty white covers, nor locked and barred from seeing the light of day. The rooms that were in less use were still furnished, only sparingly with a subtle touchs of being lived in and not wholly abandoned. In fact, if they were the only rooms that we _had_ seen, they would've appeared as the sole quarters of Seven Grosvenor Crescent Mews. But Mrs. Treggels led us on, past all that I have described, and into the centre of the house on the second floor. Here the doors to rooms were opened even wider and the contrast of the living arrangements were clearly present. There were decorations in every little corner of every sitting room, parlour, library that we encountered; paintings, figurines, easels that held water-coloured canvases, masks that were pinned to walls, detailed candlesticks and candelabras that looked more like show than for use, portmanteaus, idle fire screens for the saving of a lady's complexion sat unused on more than one mantle-piece, looking as if there might be a number of them scattered around the house; baskets of yarn, shelves of books, trays of sweets, and in one room I was sure I saw a monkey in a cage. Whether it was real or not, I could not discern.

We had passed the anticipated aviary on the first floor landing, and Mr. Darcy's prediction was awarded with accuracy as we had dallied for a moment to partake in Annie's entertainment at seeing the small birds flit from perch to perch. Her pudgy hands had stretched out to their farthest reaches (being hardly a foot from her mother's grasp on her) in the attempt of touching one of the feathered creatures, but to no avail. Although, her accompanied gurgling noises did much to fascinate a group of the birds who stopped their own chirping and preening to cock their tiny heads to the side and listen to what Annie had to say while one beady eye of each of the birds stared at her with quizzical interest. We laughed at the interaction and Mrs. Treggels dropped in some treats that they immediately flocked to at the bottom of their cage.

"Mrs. Peach!" The increasingly familiar exclamation of our hostess rung out and echoed down the flight of stairs we had just ascended as we progressed to the final door on the second floor, before the path veered up again to what looked like the attics.

"We neither of us enjoy sleeping so high from the ground," she began to explain to us in a quieter tone. "Therefore, our private rooms are on the first floor, and our main parlour is all the way in, what we call, the Tower!" She widely smiled. "Now, Mrs. Peach come away from your window watching and greet our guests."

We had entered the room and were all looking at a very small, and very shut up person who appeared to be in the habit of closing in on herself. Only her arm was a saving grace from that fate. It was as straight as a post with fingers that had a crooked grip of the opened curtains like a vice. Her face was entirely hidden from us by the chintz she was peering behind, but it was not only that that gave the poor woman the appearance of a hermit crab, it was the addition of the rather large bonnet she wore that was easily three times her size. With her dwarfing head-gear, I assumed she hadn't heard her sister-in-law, as she hadn't twitched in response to being spoken to. I soon gathered that this wasn't the case.

"Agatha, don't be a spoilsport and don't keep our guest waiting either, there's a dear."

Not a single acknowledging movement on Mrs. Peach's part.

"Perhaps you had better speak to her Fitzwiliam. She's inclined to listen if it's you." Mrs. Treggels whispered to him.

"Mrs. Peach, I am sorry to discover that your hearing has finally left you." Mr. Darcy loudly spoke as he approached the woman. Mrs. Peach turned in an instant at his remark.

"My hearing gone! _You_ talk of _my_ hearing leaving _me_! Many's the time I've found myself speaking to a brick wall with the face of identical feature to the very one that coyly smirks down at me now. Don't think I don't know what you're on about boy. I've lived longer than you and won't be made the butt of any of your jokes. No, sir, I ain't having it." Mrs. Peach huffed, folding her unemployed arm further into herself, while the other continued it's post at the curtain. "And what's this _finally_ business? Have you been waiting around for me to go deaf as winds when seamen prey, for I'll have you know I heard the chitter of yourn carriage when first it came up. I heard that babbies wailing cries sayin', 'take me away from here! I know there's a wooman that's not wantin' me!' - and she's right. Get on with you!" The crooked fingers had slackened their grip of the curtain, and following the movement of the stiff arm, had fallen into alignment with little Annie and her mother who positively shook at being thus addressed.

Mrs. Treggels seemed to jump between the accusatory finger and it'd disconcerted target with gusto and laughingly told us how her sister-in-law didn't mean a word of what she said (to which Mrs. Peach brusquely replied that she did indeed mean _every_ word that she said) and that we mustn't pay a jot of credence to what may slip from her mouth.

"She is usually very charming; though, I suppose she does take a degree of getting used to. I've never thought too strongly about it, for you see, we have lived together for so long that I quite forget _how_ long its really been."

"Addled senses for that one," Mrs. Peach vehemently muttered, jerking her bonneted head in Mrs. Treggels direction. "But no deafness for me."

Mrs. Treggels nobly ignored the comment and preceded to introduce each of us with the help of Mr. Darcy. Jane was favoured with a quick nod that nearly toppled the ruffled rim of the bonnet into the upper landscape of Mrs. Peach's wrinkled face, but her stiff arm caught it with the reflexes of swatting a fly. Sally had to be taken by Mrs. Treggels' arm to be brought before the old crone, whereas Annie was perfectly indifferent to the narrowed glare she was receiving. She was happily poking the palm of her round hand with one of her thick digits, tickling herself.

When I was presented, a terribly phony smile was plastered onto my face when Mrs. Treggels cheerily imparted to me that her sister-in-law and I would be seated next to one another at dinner this evening.

"What's she doin'?" Mrs. Peach questioned, staring at my contorted expression from beneath her furrowed brows.

"I believe she's acknowledging the seating arrangements with pleasure." Mr. Darcy commented in my stead, as I was quite unable to do so for myself without slipping into the grimace I was feeling.

"She don't look none pleased."

"That's because I'm not ma'am, to be perfectly honest, and not to offend Mrs. Treggels." I truthfully spoke, surprising myself, my friends (Jane's _look_ was, I'm sure, in place), and none the least Mrs. Peach. The others were momentarily silent. She, at least, raised her head past the ruffle of her bonnet with speculating eyes that searched my face in earnest. Her creased and lined physiognomy was as secretive as Mrs. Treggels had advertised, leaving me in wonder of what her reaction would be once she opened her pale, shriveled lips.

What emitted from them was a noise that I hadn't even thought plausible with Mrs. Peach's countenance. She barked out a laugh and induced her stiff arm to uncurl it's grip on the curtain to take my hand.

"I like her!" She cackled. "Doesn't puff herself up with airs and graces, nor a simpering sweetie. I like that. She's like me; tells things as she finds them. Oh! She didn't like that either. Look! she frowned when I said she was like me. Good. Good."

I had certainly frowned when she likened me to her as I didn't appreciate the comparison in the slightest.

"You come sit by me, girl, and we'll see if it comes to pass that you like me in turn."

I did as she requested, pulling a chair up beside her - and since the curtain was open, I had a clear view of the street below - and watched longingly as the others dispersed throughout the room, conducting conversations of their own. Mr. Darcy, however, remained near, gracing me with a reassuring grin that I took to mean he was standing by should things go south.

"I see you are fond of looking at Fitz."

"Fitz?...You mean Mr. Darcy." I couldn't help smiling at the shortened title.

"Aye, as you say. I'm sure you've heard my sister already bequeath him with the honorific role of prince among men."

I nodded and she followed suit. "Yes, she's fond of giving people names, though they hardly deserve it. I know Fitz ain't no prince, but I grant you, he's better than most and'd be a right pretty match for you, if I'm not much mistaken. Now, pardon me." She was behind the curtain before I could even blush at her insinuation. I looked around me, unsure of what was supposed to be happening and if I was meant to do anything. Mr. Darcy was, at the moment, engaged with Jane and unaware of the sudden disappearance of Mrs. Peach.

"Drat!" The curtain said, startling me from my uncertain confusion.

"What's he thinking!" The rich drapery continued. Tentatively, and with no other option before me, I peaked my head between the curtain and the glassed window, finding the shrewd eyes of Mrs. Peach scanning the streets.

"Confounded nonsense!"

"What's confounded nonsense?" I quietly asked, searching for the cause of her utterances.

"What're you'se doin'?"

"Oh. I - I don't know. _You're_ the one who came back here."

"I always do." She said by way of an answer.

"And..."

"And wot?"

"I thought you had more to say on the matter."

"Are you'se a curious girl?" She went onto evade my questions by asking a question of her own.

"Er...depends, I suppose."

"On what?"

"On whether I take an interest."

"And do you?"

"What?"

"Take an interest?"

"In what?"

"Fitz."

My mouth opened, but nothing came out straight away. Mrs. Peach cackled at my stumbling.

"Oh, hush." I extricated my head from the strange alcove and heard the cackle increase in volume.

"Here, take her." Mrs. Peach called to Mrs. Treggels, as she too emerged from the curtain. "She's had her fill of me until dinner. That'll do."

And there was no disputing her on that point, as it was true.

We were shown to our rooms where we found our respective trunks, and Mrs. Treggels was as giddy as a school girl when Annie was shown her nursery with an adjoining room to Sally's. I was pleased to see the fuss that was being made over the pair of them (despite Mrs. Peach's less than hearty welcome), warming immediately to Mrs. Treggels' open nature. She was like a child who had the body of a woman, though there was still a youthful glow in her aged features, specifically in her eyes that danced and skipped from one thing to the next in hardly contained enthusiasm.

I told her that I had it in mind to explore the City, but that I was unsure if that was wise. She struck down my doubt with one of her grand exclamations and told me that she would serve as my private guide and to all who wished to join us. She was so encouraging that we planned an expedition for the morrow, after Jane and I had been to see the Gardiners as we both agreed that it had grown too late for an excursion today.

"Now my dears, I believe our dinner guests will be arriving shortly. You may want to dress." Mrs. Treggels informed us when the delicate clock on the mantle piece informed _her_ that it was half past five.

Upon descending the stairs, after having spiffed ourselves up, we were greeted by two couples; the Arleys and the Stoles, and it was at the Arleys that I was staring rather intently at. They were the very same couple I had seen this morning walking from their front door. Mr. Arley's whiskers were as groomed as ever and I was relieved for Mrs. Arley's sake that there was no remnants of a forgotten curled ribbon in her hair. They did not recognize me, but I smiled widely at them when our hostess introduced us and had the pleasure of telling them that I had observed them this very morning.

They were both so pleased that they had cut such an impressive figure of themselves to be remembered with the amount of detail I described to them, that they pronounced me an automatic family friend and that I was welcome to visit their humble abode any time that it took my fancy. I thanked them and promised that I should always write in advance to give them some warning, to which they were grateful for the consideration.

As we chatted familiarly, I learned that Mrs. Arley was quite a deal younger than her husband (fifteen years, three months, and two days to be exact), that they were both fond of holidays to the sea, and that it had been on simultaneous visits to the sea that they had first met; Mr. Arley, a recent widower; Mrs. Arley (then Miss Woodland) the youngest daughter visiting a sick aunt. From me, they learned that I was the second of five sisters, that we lived in Longbourn, in Hertfordshire, and that Mr. Darcy was a friend of ours and had been the means of bringing us presently to London.

"Well, if it's not sheer luck that we met, Miss Bennet, I don't know what else to call it but it being mighty fine. And is that your eldest sister you told us about. She has similar looks to you." Mr. Arley inquired, gesturing to Jane who was coming from where the Stoles were in deep conversation with Mr. Darcy. She had been speaking with the wife, while the husband had vigorously attached himself to our gentleman and was loathe to let him go, though that was clearly Mr. Darcy's intent.

"I see Mr. Stole has dug his claws into Mr. Darcy. He's a leach with his talk. Thinks everything he says is handed down to him from the Lord above and that we're all subject to listen. By deuce, he could bore a tomb."

"Mr. Arley," Mrs. Arley remonstrated, "you mustn't be going around insulting people in front of new acquaintances."

"Mustn't I? Eh, I suppose you're right. Forgive me, Miss Bennet."

"Not at all. You've enlightened me and I think I will let you be entertained by the other Miss Bennet while I save Mr. Darcy."

"Hey, you see! That's the way to do it."

Jane politely took my place, with the added incentive of hearing my motives (motives she would never openly endorse) and struck up a new line of conversation with the Arleys. I passed Sally and Annie on my way across the sitting room. The former of those girls looked quite out of place in her simple frock in the midst of the all the finery that was being swept in through the front door by the dinner guests. Mrs. Treggels had insisted that it would be just the thing, as this was after all a party for Annie, and that if the baby should at all be fidgety and wanting to quit company with the adults, Sally was free to excuse herself and satisfy Annie's needs.

Mr. Darcy had certainly been correct when he told us that Mrs. Treggels was unorthodox. The only thing I couldn't understand was how they had met and how it was that he liked her. They were close to being polar opposites in temperament even when they found amusement in the same thing. Where he smiled and gave a possibility of a chuckle, she guffawed and tittered long after the occurrence had taken place, extending into the realms of a little too enthusiastic - at least for what I thought his taste was.

"Excuse me, Mr. Stole, but I have come to collect Mr. Darcy. A message waits for him in the front hall."

"We'll talk later, Mr. Darcy. I'm sure you have much to say on my opinions of tacking in the ship industry."

"Quite." The gentleman curtly responded as he turned towards his escape.

"Good grief, is that what he was going on about?"

"For over twenty minutes." Mr. Darcy pityingly moaned.

"Well I hope you _do_ have something to offer him, otherwise he's likely to repeat it all again."

The Roman sculpture appeared again in profile, chiseling Mr. Darcy's brow into a thunderous downward arc.

"Where is the message?" He asked when we had come to the front hall.

"There isn't one. I lied."

"We can't stand here forever." He told me, losing some of his severity as he looked down at me.

"No," I consented. "But if you're reading a letter it'll take you at least five minutes."

"A long letter than. Or am I a slow reader?"

"Hmm. Definitely the latter. It's because your mind is so full of ship tacking that you are unable to give your full attention to the page. You can tell him that if he asks."

He chuckled and brought his hands behind his back, resting them there as he listened to me.

"Have you met the Arleys before?"

He had.

"They're curious, aren't they? Very comfortable with themselves. At least they look to be."

"They are."

"I'm glad. You know they've already invited me to their house for _next_ Christmas."

"You are very amiable."

I laughed.

"And kind."

"You're becoming as bad as Mrs. Treggels with all these compliments, Fitz."

He barely batted an eye at me, but continued with, "I see that Mrs. Peach still refers to me by that name."

"She does." I smiled

"Must I prepare myself for your use of it?" Mr. Darcy resignedly questioned.

"While it amused me to hear her use it, you needn't worry about me taking it on."

"Good."

Mrs. Treggels suddenly appeared from a door that led to the kitchen and rushed passed us, only to retreat and stand right before us.

"Have the gentleman come yet?"

"No, Mrs. Treggels."

"Oh, dear, dear. I would dislike for the food to get cold. I shall have to tell cook to - Oh, there you are!" She interrupted herself as two gentlemen were shown inside, their hats, coats, and walking sticks all being taken from them by Burrin, the butler.

"There is fashionably late, my young whippersnappers, and then there is letting the dinner grow cold. You should count yourselves lucky that cook is a wonder and has preserved what warmth she could to our meal."

"You must forgive us, Mrs. Treggels." One of the gentleman apologized, approaching the hostess with a tad of over dramatized sincerity. "Longshadow and I were not tuned to our watches and the time quite escaped our notice."

"I only hope you do not mind what cold meat you may find, for while cook is a wonder she's no miracle worker. But don't let's argue on such a joyous occasion. Annie has come and with her, her rescuers. May I present to you gentlemen, Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet, this is Mr. Wosright," she extended her arm to the one who had been speaking; "and his fellow friend and comrade of the law, Mr. Longshadow. And I needn't introduce Mr. Darcy, for you three are already known to each other."

We exchanged the niceties and preceded into the sitting room. Mr. Longshadow and Mr. Wosright were something of the young bloods of this odd gang and were welcomed with happy greetings. Jane, I noticed, was a strong magnet to Mr. Wosright, looking beautiful as she sat with Sally. He approached her with Mrs. Treggels in tow and asked for an introduction. His friend, however, seemed to have a difficult time in taking his eyes from Sally, though he did not have the boldness of the other, so remained in his corner, watching from a distance.

To all those that were invited tonight, Sally was a nanny found by a friend of Mrs. Treggels, here in London, and was joining us for dinner in welcome of Annie as much as of herself to the new household.

With everyone present and introduced, we proceeded to the dining room in pairs. I was pleased that social decorum was a blessing in this instance. Mr. Darcy and I paired off, while Mr. Stole was forced to do the same with his wife. Alas, I feared what conversation he would conduct once at the dinner table.

Already seated and scooping spoonfuls of soup into her slurping mouth, was Mrs. Peach at the foot of the table, and I was grimly reminded that she was to be my dinner partner. On our entering, the old woman paused in her slurping to look up at us. Her shrewd eyes instantly narrowed to pinpricks when they lighted on lawyers Longshadow and Wosright. The gentlemen, who had escorted Jane and Sally in, respectively, reciprocated the glare with magnanimous bows, bending themselves at the hips and leveling their chins until they were parallel with the floor.

"Ah. Away with you? I'll have none of your tricks and games nor your false manners!" She positively spat, letting fly a few dribbles of soup from her tight lipped mouth unto the white of the table linen.

"And what a delight it is to have you in our midst again, Mrs. Peach." Wosright remarked, claiming his chair with a decided lethargy about him. No schedule in the world appeared to hold any rules with him; he was pleased to move to the clock of his own time and not bother any one about there's. No wonder he and his friend had been late.

Were it not for his bright buttons, pressed trousers, and well tailored waistcoat, I would have mistaken his ease of pace for a sloth. Even his words rolled out of him like marbles chasing each other smoothly over even ground until they touched upon the tip of his tongue where they leapt in disinterested flight. He was seated next to Jane, and I observed the workings of a smile in progress along the far and few between creases of his youngish face.

Jane smiled good naturedly at his company and I had to assume that she was merely being polite as I could not find anything (in the few minutes I had known him) to recommend him. Mrs. Treggels sat on her right side and towards that lady, Jane's demeanor was ever so slightly more welcoming.

Mrs. Peach grunted at his response and returned to her soup with gusto. I didn't mind.

 _'Let all her time be occupied with eating and leave me be.'_ I silently pled.

Around the table, all the guests sat and I had the pleasure of being next to Mr. Arley on my opposite side. Poor Mr. Darcy, however, sat at the other end with Mr. Stole beside him.

Every so often I caught his eye. If ever there was a full fledged plea held within a stoic countenance, that gentleman accomplished it with flying colours.

Being unable to save him this time, I gave him a conciliatory smile and a shrug of a shoulder. His stiff features receded and in its place appeared that gaze that had arrested my heart in the carriage, ere we arrived in London.

We both were now ignoring our dinner companions as this strange, overpowering connection held us in place. All smirks and cheeky grins were pushed aside as the realization of my emotions surfaced.

I knew I had a crush on Mr. Darcy. I'd had one ever since my first reading of _Pride & Prejudice. _But that had been your run of the mill, impossible crush on a fictitious character that could amount to nothing more than day dreams and wishes that whoever was your soulmate would match the standards of Mr. Darcy. Once the impossible _had_ happened and I met the man, the real man behind the mask of a hero in a novel, I admitted to myself that I was likely in danger of falling in love.

But then I was held motionless in that gaze - and I knew. I was not falling in love; that seemed almost school-girlish in it's naivety. I had fallen. Hit rock-bottom; like a clap of thunder striking my mind. I was irrevocably in love.

* * *

 **A/N: Like I said: just the end really that has anything new. But don't fret because chapter 17 is following directly and I can tell you that that _is_ completely new material and the turning point of the whole story. I've been waiting to share the upcoming scene with you guys since I first had the idea for 'Passing of Time'. It's my spiritual twist to things.**

 **If you have any questions, or are confused by anything, feel free to drop me a line. I'll be happy to answer.**


	17. Chap17 'I do believe we have a visitor'

**A/N: Right, like I said, all new stuff here.** **I'm a bit nervous with how this one is going to be received, but I won't say more in case I spoil it. Just let me know what you think!**

 **Chapter Seventeen: 'I do believe we have a visitor.'**

After arranging a time to meet with Phillipa, Sophie began taking apart her room. She felt she had to have something to bring of the real Sophie to show to the spiritualist - in case some connection was needed with a personal item. She wasn't quite sure what would be required for the reading, if anything, and she was as ignorant as for what she was searching for. It couldn't be a t-shirt or a favorite blanket, she was sure. There had to be a deeper meaning.

Maybe one of those images that were called pictures.

She lifted a cheap plastic frame up from her night stand and considered it. It was of Jules and her - well, of the real Sophie. She opened the back and peered at the numbers etched there in strange print. The year had been 2014. From her current point of view that was three years ago. From what she was more used to considering it was 200 years in the future.

With that odd feeling that always presented itself whenever she paid too close attention to the dates and the time traveling, she replaced the frame to it's proper condition and set it back in it's place.

Her room was thoroughly searched (the photo not passing muster), and every drawer, cupboard, nook, cranny, space between the mattress and box spring, empty space between the box spring and the floor, and every other surface that suggested it might be hiding a trove of likely items that would serve her purpose. The result of these endeavors was a completely disheveled room that no longer possessed a visible floor as there was a layer of discarded clothes that had been flung carelessly from drawers, a pile of trousers on a chair, and even from the laundry basket in the corner.

From all those areas, there was no hint of something remotely matching to what Sophie was in search for. The only thing that had not fit in with the clothes were a pair of tweezers, a round hairy thing that she hoped was merely a cat toy that had seen better days, and a few random wires that showed that they were meant to be hooked up to cameras, mobiles, and some other device that Sophie did not recognize.

The cupboard was proving to be as fruitless. Clothes fell in similar piles, revealing nothing of merit. She was nearing the end of things to look through as well as losing her temper when she threw her arms in the air.

"There must be something! Something!"

She tossed down the last hanger and let herself fall unceremoniously on the pile of clothing. Feeling cross, she kicked her foot against the door jam and then immediately regretted that action. She had her foot clutched in her hands and was rubbing her sore toe through the thick material of her shoe.

"Do women not keep journals in this time?!" She helplessly asked no one in particular, though the strain of her exasperated question had an accusatory tone that could be safely assumed was directed at the girl's room she had just wrecked. She released her foot as the pain subsided, relaxing on top of the cushions of clothes. She was tired after having spent well over an hour of this and was beginning to wonder what Jules was doing. She had heard her in the bath and then her conclusion of the bath. But all was quiet now from behind her door.

Meaning to get up, though with a leisurely pace, Sophie swept her gaze around her one last time. Her eye suddenly caught sight of a crooked seam in the wall just by her knee. Leaning forward, she used her fingers to pry away a spot of discoloured paint that was obvious when she brought herself right in front of it. A hatch had been painted over; assuredly small (no longer then her hand), but a hatch nonetheless.

Excitement filling her, Sophie jumped to her feet, ran to the kitchen and returned to her cupboard with a knife in her hand. With a sharp point peeling away at the paint job, the work was fast and easy and soon she was persuading the hatch door to open. It squeaked wonderfully, sounding reminiscent of haunted houses of old.

Inside the small cubbyhole was an even smaller journal. The pages were few, although thick enough to give the appearance of the journal being bigger than it was. There was a film of dust that Sophie had to blow off to clearly read the etched in pen marks on the hard cover.

 _Sophie's Diary_

The excitement that had sprung up upon finding the hatch, blossomed further as she knew she had found exactly what she was searching for. With mildly shaking fingers, Sophie opened the covers and began reading.

 _29 January, 2015_

 _Jules, being her usual self, dragged me to the newly opened pub round the corner, and I, being my usual self, griped at her the whole way. I have an inbox full of emails that need responding to and a presentation to prepare for the quarter meeting (very much not looking forward to that), and all I wanted to do was have a nice cup in front of the telly. It was not to be, and about the time I would've been settling down for bed was right when the dreaded karaoke began. Drunks, incapable of finding a tune let alone hold one, screeched at us with their eyes either screwed shut or drowsily opened with just the whites showing. More attack of the zombies than anything if you ask me. The only thing that improved the noise was Dan. Jules introduced us, and though she had herself just met him by the usual methods she was unable to hold his attention thus I was inducted into the conversation. He was...different. More real than any of the other blokes that were milling about and eyeing us. We talked easily and I was surprised at how easily he made me laugh. His dry remarks concerning the karaoke singers ran along the same line of my own thinking which had us bent over are drinks, snickering into them._

 _Honestly, I liked him. He's very good-looking with that tall, dark, mysterious thing going but is totally unpretentious. Once we started talking we quickly found out a fair amount of the other: he's a huge West Ham fan, loves dogs, has a fear of spiders - I had to coax that from him - and has a mother and two sisters who live in Croydon. Subsequently, he discovered my passion for P &P and of course had to good naturedly take the mick out of me. _

_"No Mr. Darcy then?" He had asked with a goofy grin. Why is it whenever you tell someone you like P &P they immediately have to comment on your relationship status in comparison with Mr. Darcy? Just rub it in. _

_Anyway, I told him that there was no Mr. Darcy on the horizon to which he replied that maybe there was one closer than I thought. I couldn't help but understand his meaning as it was so very obviously done, yet it had made me hide a smile and lean over my drink further to keep my red cheeks from his sight - as cheesy as it was._

 _We agreed to meet tomorrow._

The first entry was the shortest, but as they went on and as the real Sophie jotted down her experiences with Dan they steadily grew longer and more detailed with her gushing of his virtues and charms, and eventually she wrote down her feelings.

 _17 March, 2015_

 _He was meant to have been visiting Charlie but the cheeky thing that he is turned up on my doorstep and one thing led to another ( as it normally does with us). It had been so sweet, made sweeter by his professed love of me. I was surprised when I had heard him say it. Though at the same time I wasn't. I don't know how to explain it, but there has been a connection between us stronger than usual. I think we've both felt it growing and today it came out. I reciprocated in kind. It didn't come out as dramatically as I had imagined, nothing like the movies, but it was our moment and I haven't stopped smiling since._

Sophie read through the diary, drawing Dan's image to mind whenever he appeared in the text. Reasonably, she could feel herself blushing at certain entries as she acquainted herself with some of the more personal aspects of the relationship (her curiosity of just how far 21st century couples went was answered, spelled out right in front of her) yet she kept pursuing the pages. Her propriety of declining from infringing on a friend's privacy was momentarily swept aside. She wanted to know. She wanted to know who Sophie Devon was through the woman's own words. She also couldn't bring her eyes away from the informative words about the lovers, taking a keen interest in Dan.

As she went on, reading past the months of September she began to see a shift in the thoughts of the writer. There was an incremental decline in the enthusiasm, she thought. There were less embarrassing entries, less talk of meeting for lunch or dinner, and an overall decline as the real Sophie seemed to dwell, almost obsessively, on the differences between Dan and Mr. Darcy. Increasingly the entries became more about finding faults in the continuation of the relationship. She appeared to almost anticipate its ending any day; finally the day came.

 _3 January, 2016_

 _Dan and I spoke at last. He phoned me last night and we agreed to meet. He was in his philosophical mood, using his 'grate on my nerves' understanding tone. I couldn't stand it. He was trying to lay all the fault on my door. I know I was a player in this relationship too, but it wasn't all me. He has just as much to answer to. All I could keep thinking of as I sat across from him was how different he looked to me from when I had first met him and how utterly alien he was to my notion of the person I could truly envision myself being with._

The passage continued, detailing the break up before there came a brief space of a line or two between her words. Still in the same entry.

 _As I'm sitting here, writing it all down and thinking it out with considerably less heat, I'm realizing how pathetic my mental state has become. The person I could truly envision myself being with' is a two-dimensional character from a book that was written 200 years ago, that was immortalized by Colin Firth on the screen. I just ruined my relationship because Dan wasn't Mr. Darcy and I couldn't dislodge the comparisons from my head. Stupid comparisons. What good are they? They have no merit, yet I know myself and I can still feel them lingering. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can't I think like a rational human being and interact with the rest of the here and now. Why must I find myself mentally editing people's speech to how they would've sounded in the past; using the antiquated words that most of my generation doesn't even know exists?_

There was a sentence more, but most of it was blotched by what looked like what might have been tears. The only eligible word that the faux Sophie could make out was _Dan._

She closed the diary and sat thinking with little care for the time passing. Her mind wandered from thought to thought, all revolving around the subject matter in hand (literally) until she resurfaced to the ticking clock and found that it was time to get a move on if she wished to keep the appointment with Phillipa.

The spiritualists address was a tiny shop on Brick Lane, squished between two other larger establishments. Sophie looked cautiously around her at the dirty street and clutched her bag that contained the journal more firmly. She wondered why a spiritualist would be set up in such a dank area and not in a more fashionable part of the city where she might produce more custom. The sign above the door read simply, ' _Spiritual Healer'._ There were no dramatics to the sign that suggested that a performance would be the form of a reading. This assured Sophie. She felt the more down-to-earth the whole experience was the more real it would be.

Taking a last, lung-filling breath, she pushed open the door and entered.

A small bell tinkled above her, alerting Phillipa to the presence of custom.

"I'll be with you in a minute." She called from somewhere in the back. Sophie patiently waited by the counter, too jittery to sit in one of the proffered chairs that lined the floor length window.

"Sophie. It's good to see you again. I'm glad you phoned." Phillipa emerged from the back with a shuffling step. She reached across the counter and shook her hand. "Shall we?"

She motioned to the open door she had just emerged from. Sophie could hear the whistling of boiling water coming from beyond. Logically her thoughts turned to reading tea leaves.

The back room was small, with only a small round table accompanied by two chairs. In the corner there was a portable stove with a kettle steaming atop it.

"Have a seat. Would you care for some tea?" Phillipa asked, removing the kettle and pouring the piping hot water into a cup.

"Is it not necessary?" Sophie asked.

"Necessary? For what, dear?"

"Forgive me, I had the impression that you would be reading tea leaves."

Phillipa laughed kindly. "No, I was merely attempting to be a good hostess. I have coffee if you prefer."

"Tea will be fine."

Sophie accepted her cup with two sugars and glanced around the room. There was no burning incense nor any shawls draped haphazardly over the furniture or walls. She espied no crystal balls either. The only prop that showed what business Phillipa was in was a deck of tarot cards placed in the centre of the table.

Once they were both seated at the table, Sophie asked her pardon. "I am ignorant of what normally takes place in a reading and under the circumstances, I will not deny my apprehension."

"You may stop me at any time you like. Whatever the reason. Though, I promise that I will only go so far as I feel you to be comfortable with."

"Thank you." Then Sophie laughed, albeit a small one. "Normally I would not be so concerned. It is unlike me and I do not like it."

"Don't trouble yourself, dear." Phillipa said before gulping down the remainder of her tea. The heat apparently was not worth mentioning to her. "Now," she said, placing her empty cup to the farthest edge of the table. Sophie took a small sip from hers; though she mostly held it for the warmth. "Let me look at your face."

Sophie complied, turning straight in her chair and looked directly at the spiritualist.

"Funny thing faces. If one knows how to look they can see a person's life mapped out from the lines and dimples, the turn of the mouth and the slant of an eye. How upturned a nose is - although if you comes across someone with a nose that's _too_ high then they're likely kin to a pig."

Sophie smiled at the mild joke.

"One side of the face speaks of fate," Phillipa continued, roving her eyes over the plains of Sophie's face. "While the other shows the reaction of that fate. How you handle what life brings you, so to speak."

"All that is clear on my face?" Sophie asked with a hint of skepticism.

"As it is with everybody's. There are face readings - a practice that can be studied if you have the aptitude...and possess some level of intuition."

"It is something someone can study?"

"Yes." Phillipa responded. She said nothing more as her focus concentrated. This quiet study was more disconcerting than what Sophie had anticipated. She felt as if the woman was seeing everything that had happened to her in the last few months - or, at least was picking up something of it, for a crease began to grow between her brow until she finally asked, "Is there something you'd like to tell me before we really begin?"

Nodding slowly and thinking immediately to the journal, Sophie brought it out and laid it on the table.

"And what is this?" Phillipa questioned. She left off her gaze from Sophie, for which she was grateful.

"A journal."

"Yours?"

"...Not quite."

Phillipa waited with expectant brows raised.

Sophie sighed. She had hoped that she wouldn't have to explain her story, but that the psychic (if she was, indeed, genuine) would have read it in whatever way was her method of discerning the supernatural.

"How can I be sure that you are real?" As she asked it she knew that she already believed in the woman. It was something intangible, yet present, filling the energy around them with reassurance. Phillipa didn't even answer her - only gave her a little knowing smile.

"Well then, I suppose I had better start from the beginning and do my best to sound coherent."

Phillipa listened. She neither adopted an expression of disbelief nor one of amazement. In fact, her features were altogether calm and almost searching. Sophie dreaded what her reaction may be if she told her that she was Elizabeth Bennet. Therefore she made no mention of Pride & Prejudice, nor of any of her family members. She told only of her time-traveling (a stretch of the human comprehension in itself) and her sudden implant into the body she now inhabited.

When she'd come to this point, Phillipa asked her to describe in detail what her former appearance was like.

"I had dark brown hair, almost black, with brown eyes. My face had been similar to...my current one," she hesitated, feeling how odd those words were to say aloud. "Though, perhaps rounder. I had been taller - by quite a few inches actually." She smiled at this, remembering how she'd had to adjust to looking up at quite a few women, when normally it would have been the reverse. She continued on, providing more detail the more she brought her mind back to her old life. Finally, Phillipa suggested that they turn to the cards. She had been shuffling them throughout Sophie's descriptions and now held them out to her.

"Pick ten cards at random. Be sure to use your left hand."

Sophie had been staring at the cards, but looked up at this last direction.

"My left hand?"

"Are you right-handed?"

"I am."

"Then you pick with your left hand." That was all she said.

In seconds, ten cards drawn from all layers of the deck were being positioned between them on the table in the Celtic Cross.

"Hmm. Very interesting." Phillipa hummed over them. "It shows a great travel that you have recently undergone. From what you have told me, I guess that is nothing new to you."

She considered the cards further as Sophie held her breath. She couldn't fathom her visceral relief at having Phillipa truly believe her.

"And then, here, an identity. A double identity? No...it is blurred." She slumped and chewed her lip in deep examination. "This reading is fascinating. I have never had such cards at odds with each other."

"What does that mean?"

"If you look here, you'll see the Lovers card, and it looks to be saying that romance is coming," Sophie blushed. "But then it is contradicted here, where it shows that the romance is an old one."

Phillipa looked up suddenly with narrowed, searching eyes. "Would you mind meditating?"

"P-presently?" Sophie inquired, somewhat taken aback at the haste of the question.

The psychic nodded.

"How - how do I do that?"

"Have in your mind the question you would like an answer to. Do not force it. Just let it be. Let it fill you. Now close your eyes."

Sophie did as she was told by closing her eyes, yet coming up with the right question proved to be more difficult.

What was it exactly that she wanted to ask.

Why she traveled to the future? Why her life is the plot of a fictional book? Who is Mr. Darcy?

All of those seemed too broad, nor did they seem to be the root of her quandary.

She mentally sighed. She feared that she would waste all her time merely sitting before Phillipa with only her eyes closed. She wondered briefly if the real Sophie had any of the same questions that she had herself.

 _Sophie!_

Her question suddenly became apparently clear.

 _Who is Sophie Devon?_

* * *

I sat staring at my reflection for what felt like hours. The one thought pervading my observations of myself - ' _T_ _his isn't my face!'_

It wasn't my face, yet this was the face that was falling in love with Mr. Darcy. The face that _he_ was falling in love with in turn. I was sure he was. His eyes had spoken too clearly at dinner to be mistaken for anything else.

A thrill had shot up my spine as our gazes had locked. A perfect understanding that had left me numb to all else for the rest of the evening. I assumed I was poor company for the Arley's and regretted that slightly as I reflected over everything else. The most I could do was remember that I was at dinner, therefore the action of bringing food and wine to my lips every so often was required. It had been very forced, however, and my eyes had continued to betray my internal euphoria as I repeatedly sent small looks and smiles down the table in Mr. Darcy's direction.

Yet, upon returning to my room and catching a smiling reflection, my initial thought had been, ' _she looks as happy as I feel.'_

My second thought which immediately followed was, _'who is she? I don't remember seeing her downstairs.'_

That was when I felt like the air had been knocked out of me. No one here would ever know me as Sophie Devon. They would know only this altered Elizabeth who had woken oddly one day and never seemed to return to her normalcy. An Elizabeth that was slightly off, but never Sophie Devon.

Falling carelessly into the chair before the vanity where I had first been met with this realization, I stared warily at the reflection. She was beautiful. Dark, lustrous features that held a spark of humour in the eyes.

 _'Now, is that my spark or hers?'_

High arched brows that appeared almost regal in the graceful curve that swooped pleasingly to meet the fine, delicate nose in the centre. A nose that I caused to draw in and extract breath, that further enabled the generous bosom to rise and fall. Yet, it was not me.

My own features were lost to me. Had my eyes been a lighter brown than Elizabeth's? I couldn't remember. I'd grown so accustomed to these eyes; to their dark depths that were surely more alluring than mine could ever have been, that I couldn't even recall the shape of them. For so long I'd seen Elizabeth's reflection as my own, hoping that would make it easier, less confusing. Now I was realizing that there were certain idiosyncrasies of my own face that were beginning to fade from me.

"How is that even possible?" I whispered aloud to myself, watching the full lips voice the question.

I felt like crying at my dilemma but I refrained. Instead I took several deep breaths that did not exactly calm me though it did refocus my attention on how much air I could squeeze into my lungs before releasing. I continued to do this as I determinedly rose from the vanity and began preparing myself for bed. If I kept myself occupied until bed I was sure that my roiling emotions would be settled by the morning. I 'd had these nervous episodes before where I panicked at the prospects of my situation and I'd always managed to calm myself.

I did not let myself observe that this time felt somewhat different, but soldiered on with all the required necessities before climbing into bed. I almost dreaded this, for with nothing else to do my mind would definitely have a struggle of remaining at ease. My candle still burned by my elbow on a small night stand. I stared at the wavering flame, allowing the fluid movement to hypnotize me as I determined whether I wanted to have my panic in the dark or not.

Before I could make up my mind, there was a soft knock at my door. Gratefully, I called for the person to come in.

Jane strode in bearing twin cups that steamed and instantly filled my room with the rich aroma of cocoa.

"I do not wish to disturb you if your were about to retire." She said, stopping at the foot of my bed.

"No. I was merely thinking." I motioned her over, reaching out a welcoming hand for the warm cup. It's comforting familiarity had a calming effect on my nerves and I took a tentative sip after blowing a little on the hot beverage. Jane sat herself comfortably near my feet, resting her back against the ornate foot-board and taking a sip of her own. She said nothing further at first and I let the silence stretch as I wasn't too sure what to say at the moment. I wasn't overly desirous of company, yet neither did I want to be left alone. It suddenly occurred to me whose company I would most welcome at the moment.

Almost as if reading my mind, Jane spoke up. "I could not help notice your fascination with Mr. Darcy tonight at dinner." She remarked coyly.

I was glad of the low light, for I was sure that I blushed. "My fascination? I barely had a chance to speak with him seeing as Mr. Stole was adamant in engaging him in ceaseless chatter over tacking and whatever useless information he has stored in his boring head."

"Lizzy." She lightly reprimanded.

"What! Don't try to convince me that you were at all impressed with a single word that came out of that man's mouth."

"I'm sure if he spoke with those sharing similar passions he would not be thought so dull." I scoffed minutely into my cup. I highly doubted that the Admiral himself would find much use for the likes of Mr. Stole. "In any case," Jane continued, ignoring my unladylike snort, "the question of Mr. Stole's dominant grasp on Mr. Darcy's attention is debatable. It was clear to see that his true interest lay further down the table and a little shy of Mrs. Peach.

I kept my face hidden innocently in my cup. Alas it was no deterrent for my - for Jane.

"You will not hide from me that easily, dear Lizzy. Already your silence is a small admission for the feelings you hold."

I looked at her above the rim of my cup. The single flame cast a brilliant shadow along her face, pronouncing her features exquisitely and catching her golden hair in a radiant sheen. Her eyes were alight with mischief as she awaited my answer. Oh, how I wished at times that she really was my sister. That all of this would truly last. Immediately I felt a pang of guilt as I thought of my own family - of my mother.

I took another sip of the cocoa before lowering it into my lap.

"It is true. I am in love with Mr. Darcy." I spoke without hesitation, feeling suddenly tired of always having to commit myself to tiny white lies in order to maintain a semblance of the true story. But it was no longer a story. No longer a guide that I had to follow. I could not delay my emotions just to follow along the outlines of a novel that decided that Elizabeth fell in love only when she checked her own pride and saw Mr. Darcy for the man he truly was - is. I already know who he is. As I already know my honest feelings for him. And in that moment I saw that everything that I had worried about, from my very first night in Longbourn to this eve's contemplation were all minor details. There were a thousand things that I could continue to over-examine and fret over, but they all paled when I brought Mr. Darcy to the forefront of my mind. With him, nothing else mattered and it dawned on me that I had gotten exactly what I had always wanted.

A small bubble of laughter escaped me. A pure laugh that echoed the very happiness I felt deep within me.

"Lizzy," Jane had absently lowered her own cup of cocoa, barely aware that she threatened the clean comforter with a brown stain, but I was too excited to warn her.

"It's true Jane." I quickly discarded my drink on the nightstand, and reached over to grasp her free hand. "I love him and I - I think he loves me."

"But...this, this is all so sudden." She breathed. There was no hint of mischief in her eyes now, only astonishment with a slowly forming smile. "I did not realize the extent of your favour. Of course, it was apparent to those who observed you that you were fond of each other, yet I believe it will be a true shock when we return to Longbourn and you bring the happy news of your engagement."

"Engagement!" I laughed. "Jane, he has not proposed." I clarified in a tone I realized was more suited for a teacher to a student rather than sister to sister.

"But you have told me, only mere seconds ago, that you believe your love to be reciprocated."

"Yes. But I do not know whether he will act before the week is up. There may not be any marital news to impart to dear mamma."

"Oh, how happy she will be for you Lizzy!" Jane beamed.

I brought my cocoa back to my lips, where I hid my muttered, "you have no idea."

Jane continued speaking fervently of her excitement of such news as I only half listened. I could not deny the slight taint of my earlier ruminations on my freshly expressed happiness. They went hand-in-hand in a way; yet as I realized truly what I had been given - the secret wish that has been with me since I was no more than a child - I found that stark detail more bearable in a pragmatic light. What are our bodies other than shells? Vessels? Is it not the spirit within that holds the true essence of a person? In a moment I decided that the spark I had seen in the reflection belonged to me, for it was the window to the soul and it was most assuredly _my_ soul that had been peering out of a stunned face.

A secret smile began stealing over my face. _My_ face. This was not only now my world and my life - it was my body.

"...I daresay it is a shame for Miss Bingley, however. I'm afraid she'll not be as receptive to such news..."

Jane was my family. Just as my mother from my former life would always be my mother. But she would not even know to miss me, which was a bittersweet thought.

As I continued partially attending to Jane and my own thoughts a sudden strangeness took hold of me. I began hearing Jane as if from the far end of a tunnel and I was seeing her by the same method. She was small and far away, yet I knew her to be not more than an arm's reach away.

"Lizzy?" I heard faintly. "Are you well?"

I could not answer her. I was not able. It was as if my entire body had frozen without my consent and I was seeing it from a disjointed perspective. A sudden fear gripped me that I was being sent back. There was a supernatural aura around the room - I could feel it as I disconcertingly realized that I recognized it. It was the same sense I had as I had dreamt of that tunnel with the girl flying towards me. However, now I saw no girl, though as the seconds passed I became increasingly aware of a presence. It was on the peripheral edges of my senses and I knew immediately what it was - or rather, who it was.

I gasped mentally, perhaps physically as well. I couldn't understand what I was experiencing. I knew it was Elizabeth Bennet. I could feel her brushing up on the outskirts of my mind; I could feel her question and simultaneously I felt the same shock that she did.

We had recognized ourselves.

For the briefest of seconds, neither of us were Lizzy or Sophie. Our souls met, freed from all worldly distinctions, and it became startling clear that there was only one soul. One soul that had seen the use of many bodies through reincarnation and was now on a strange path of meeting one of its lives from another era. Lizzy and Sophie were one; different bodies, different times, different wants and desires, yet inextricably one.

This revelation lasted no more than a mere moment before I felt my old awareness returning. The first thing I was aware of were my tingling fingers. They felt so aggravated that they itched horribly. I could not scratch them either, for my limbs felt like dead weight.

My vision and hearing began to clear once more and I felt Lizzy's presence receding. Though how could I when I now knew that she was me?

Slowly cutting through all the haze that presently clouded my judgement, I became aware that the shrill screeching I had unknowingly been hearing was emanating from Jane. With cautious eyes, I focused on her face and realized she looked terrified. I wanted to reach out to her and tell her that I was fine, though in all honesty I couldn't fathom what had her so hysterical. It wasn't as if _she_ had suddenly learned that she shared a soul with a fictitious regency era heroine.

I opened my mouth to say something when spots darted in front of my vision and I lost focus once more. In a daze, an ounce of my awareness perceived that Jane was not alone with me when I lost my sight completely as well as my consciousness.

* * *

With a hostess such as Mrs. Treggels nothing in the way of comfort was left to chance. With a night as freezing as it was, all precaution against the weather had been seen to before hand. Warm fires blazed in every occupied room (and even in a few _unoccupied_ rooms - she was a terrible economist!), along with the occupants of certain of these rooms being stocked with a selection of piping hot water bottles; of which were suggested be piled along the feet and legs to ensure maximum blood circulation. The finest silken sheets and down comforters layered the inviting beds; almost imploring the guests to sleep comfortably and not stir from their soporific embrace 'til morning. Woolly pajamas had also been offered to any who sought the extra warmth, but for the time being, only Mrs. Treggels and her sister-in-law clothed themselves in the rather itchy sleepwear.

Despite the hostess' best efforts to ensure a good nights rest for her guests, there was nothing she could do to induce Mr. Darcy to lay his head against his feather pillow.

He stood, still dressed in his dinner jacket, though with cravat discarded, by his window in deep thought. Absently he observed that it was snowing and that already there was a thick layer coating the ground. One by one he watched as flake chased flake, sometimes lazily and at points in a great gust as the wind picked up and sent the snow spiraling in a small tempest.

He thought it very appropriate for his current mood; a swirl of emotions, buoyed for one second then descending in a great rush in the next. On this night he felt more sure of his reciprocated love than any time before. He could still see her mesmerizing eyes seeking his across the dinner table; the small smiles that brought so much beauty to her entire being and which lit a fire within him, tempting him to proclaim himself that very evening.

But then, as all rational thinkers do, he began thinking of the response from his family. These musings had plagued him for some time, but never before did they seem so pressing. His confidence was nearly certain that a positive reaction would follow any declaration on his part from the maiden in question, while it would be met with polar resistance from his class.

With a decidedly contemptuous snort of air through his nose, which fogged up a bit of the window, Mr. Darcy decided that his families better opinion could go hang. He was his own man. That was nothing new. His aunt had no control over him financially; nor was there a legal binding for him to marry his cousin. All could be overcome in time.

And any concerns over Elizabeth's ability in handling his relations were swiftly pushed aside with a wry smile. She'd either charm them or vex them in her own peculiar manner. Something he would look forward to with the greatest of interests.

The crackling fire broke through his reverie and he abandoned his post at the window, laying the heavy curtain securely over the paned glass with a gentleness that would have been more suited for the attentions of a lady. Oh, but his mind was full of his lady and the smile that had affixed itself to his face could not be easily moved. Languidly, he removed his coat and shoes as he stared into the fire. The very spark and vibrancy of the flames calling to mind his beloved's eyes.

He was about to remove his breeches when a haunted scream filled the corridor and reached him through the thick wood of his door. His mind, already drunk on Elizabeth, immediately went to her as the one who had cried out. Bolting from his room with neither care or sense to the propriety of his dress, he stormed into her room and subsequently ran into a terrified Jane.

She clutched his arm, gibberish pouring forth from her trembling lips as her eyes remained fixed on something on the opposite side of the room. He briefly wondered if he had mistaken where the sisters would be sleeping, for he had been sure that Elizabeth had been given this room. But all sensible thoughts left him with a jolting shock. He was sure his heart had stopped.

Sitting utterly still in bed, Elizabeth sat trance-like and ghostly pale. Her eyes held none of her playful spark nor their shining brilliance. They appeared almost dead in their glossy state of unseeing, which was as unnerving as her parted lips muttering unspoken words as if in prayer. As disturbing as her appearance was it was the sight of the apparition floating above her head that had Jane and Mr. Darcy frozen by the door.

The face of a young woman, wholly transparent, yet with a definite outline, hovered independent of gravity, faintly cloaking Elizabeth in a white glow of light. The spirit seemed to be in awe and both spectators felt certain that she saw them, or was at least aware of them. Mutely, Mr. Darcy drew Jane behind him, shielding her from whatever other worldly occurrence was happening and presently ignoring her unanswerable questions of 'what on earth was happening'.

They watched in stunned companionship for the length of what felt to be several minutes, though in reality was half that time. Subtly, the spirit began to diminish and fade, her searching eyes the last to vanish ere the room was restored to its natural ambiance. Their worried gazes turned solely to Elizabeth now whose countenance was returning somewhat; her eyes no longer looked completely void of a presence, though they remained hazy. They could see her trying to focus on them, but the next second had the whites of her eyes showing as she pitched forward, passing out across her own folded lap.

Mr. Darcy immediately sprang to her side, leaving Jane to make her own weary way to her sister. She did so with visible trepidation; returning her gaze more often to the clear space above the bed than to her sister.

"Miss Elizabeth!" Mr. Darcy called urgently, shaking his love with gentle violence. His strong hands gripped her arms just below the shoulders, pressing into her soft skin, imploring her to feel the desperate pressure and wake to him.

She did not and he felt an unreasonable fear grip him, urging him to proceed with reckless haste. His hands rose higher, searching her neck until he found her pulse. It beat with a flurry, which in turn caused it's anguished counterpart to join in its radical pace. His hand tightened around her throat, meaning to keep the pulse of life contained within the fragile shell, yet his worry blinded him to his strength.

"Sir, unhand her. Your rough treatment will likely cause her more harm than good. If you wish to be of assistance than ring for a doctor." Miss Bennet's sharp words startled him out of his fervor, causing him to pull his hands away with an extremity that indicated the physical challenge it was to draw away from Miss Elizabeth. With an effort he retreated from his beloved and was immediately succeeded by Miss Bennet. She grasped her sister's unresponsive hand in both her own as she sat on the edge of the mattress.

Turning towards him, her eyes lighted on his and they both shared a quite communication that needed no words.

No one was to be told of this.

"I will fetch a doctor." He moved as if to go to the door, but he halted and added. "Yet I cannot see what would come of his visit when his profession relies not on the metaphysical, but rather the opposite. To what would we owe her faintness?"

"You would deem it worth the risk to leave her without any professional opinion - after witnessing..."

"Exactly, Miss Bennet. What _did_ we witness?"

There was a heavy silence as both attempted to understand what had just occurred in the privacy of their own thoughts. At last, it was broken by the quiet voice of Miss Bennet. "Alas, I know not; yet I fear leaving Lizzy unattended when she has yet to rouse herself."

Mr. Darcy looked to the sisters and saw the elder gently stroking the other's brow, clearing away stray wisps of hair. Elizabeth lay as if in a deep sleep, though her features were troubled. He would reach out to her if he could, willing her to wake, however Miss Bennet stood in the way and he himself was not sure he trusted himself so near her at present. He had not meant to be rough. His fear had driven him.

He sighed. "I shall fetch a doctor."

He barely heard Miss Bennet's thanks as he hurriedly left the room and promptly descended the stairs. He was detained on the first landing, however.

"Oh! Fitzwilliam, whatever is the matter? We heard a scream and the sound of running feet. Poor Sally is quite apprehensive, for Annie does not care at all for the interruption and has been wailing ever since. The mother can do nothing to quiet her babe! I daresay all will calm in relative time, yet I fear a swift reprimand from Mrs. Peach on Sally's first night. But, dear, I forget myself! Why is there screaming and dashing about in the first place? And what's this? You, racing down the stairs as if being chased by, dear, I know not what -"

"Mrs. Treggles," Mr. Darcy interrupted, "you must forgive us for causing any alarm to you and the others. Miss Elizabeth has...had a nightmare. Her sister and I rushed to her, unsure of any threat. When we were able to bring her around, she fainted and now I must send for a doctor."

"Oh, to be sure! Yes, I will assist. You may use my Doctor Trillip. He is usually found at home at this hour, though I am sure he will come." Mrs. Treggels spun recklessly round until she was hurrying down the way she had just come from with Mr. Darcy directly behind her. "I will send one of my footmen to his residence. He is a rich doctor, a dying breed you might say, and lives not a handful of streets away. Miss Elizabeth will have the care required." There was a pause in her chatter as she bent in front of a blank parchment and wrote a quick missive.

"She is still unconscious?"

Mr. Darcy nodded and the good woman finished off her note with a pleasing flourish before ringing a bell. "Oh, I am forgetting the hour. No one will hear the bell. You must go to the servants quarters and wake Jeffery. He will deliver the summons to Doctor Trillip."

"There is no need Mrs. Treggels. I will go myself. What is the exact address of this doctor?"

"Go yourself, Mr. Darcy? On a night like this?" She was preparing for a long-winded contradiction, he could see, though suddenly her tongue stilled and she looked at him with a considering eye. After a moments observation, in which he twitched with agitation and she began to lift the corner of her active mouth in a knowing smile, she replied quite calmly. "You will find him on 12 Chapel Street."

"I know it. I will be but a moment as I attire myself more appropriately for society...and the weather." He glanced down at himself and felt mild mortification that he'd been seen so loosely attired by two females he highly regarded. The circumstances allowed for exceptions. Still, he did not like it and was swift to present himself more properly covered. Mrs. Treggels still stood by the small desk where she had written the missive when he returned to her.

"I will be back shortly. Miss Bennet is with her sister. Perhaps you will be so good as to tell her that Doctor Trillip is being summoned."

"To be sure. I will go directly. Dear, but I must tell Sally otherwise she'll fret and -"

"Do what you must, Mrs. Treggles, only be quick. Miss Bennet is alone with only her worried thoughts as company."

Mrs. Treggels emphatically nodded and scurried off without further ado. Mr. Darcy shook his head, allowing a sliver of amusement to soften his stoic brow before turning to the unforgiving chill of the London night. He found the residence of Doctor Trillip easily enough, it was convincing that gentleman to depart from his cozy hearth that proved more difficult. His wife was extremely displeased with the call and made that fact known with her uncivil manner. Mr. Darcy was not to be put off, however, and eventually managed to see the doctor passed the threshold of his home and through the one of Mrs. Treggels'.

Elizabeth hadn't stirred in all that time and Miss Bennet was obviously very concerned. Smelling salts had been tried during the time of Mr. Darcy's departure, but to little avail. It had elicited a few mumbles, alas nothing more.

To speak plainly, Doctor Trillip was at a loss and was far more concerned with returning to his warm bed than staying up any later, trying to wake an otherwise healthy young woman. Mr. Darcy noticed this attitude at once and was not impressed. Yet, he did not press him any further as he truthfully did not believe that he could do anything. Whatever had occurred was something beyond all their comprehension and until Elizabeth woke - which he prayed would be soon - he and Miss Bennet were the only ones who could feasibly understand what Elizabeth needed. That was at least what he believed.

As the minutes dragged by and Doctor Trillip failed in treating the patient in any successful form, the others began growing impatient for his departure. Even Mrs. Treggels shot her physician narrowed eyes as he spoke half muttered nonsense by the bedside. Ever astute to when he may take his leave, the doctor felt his presence unwelcome and immediately began making his excuses; advising, as he backed towards the door, that the patient be attended throughout the night and to call for him in the morning should she prove unchanged.

Mrs. Treggels and Jane thanked him, as was proper for his _services._ Mr. Darcy ignored him, waiting for him to exit the room. Once he did, the three discussed the arrangements. Miss Bennet would sleep beside her sister for the night and alert the house to any changes. Mr. Darcy asked that should she need anything, or should Miss Elizabeth waken in the night, if she would come to him first.

Miss Bennet agreed to this and he did not miss the slight glint of amusement from the fair sister. He felt an uncomfortable clenching in his throat but pushed it aside as they retired for the night. Mrs. Treggels placed a light kiss on Elizabeth's cheek before leaving and passed Mr. Darcy with a flurry.

Standing at the open door, Mr. Darcy turned back to Miss Bennet. They stared at the other for several seconds before Jane kindly smiled.

"Your devotion to my sister is admirable, Mr. Darcy. I thank you."

"It is nothing." He responded automatically.

"I am sure Lizzy would not view it as such and when she wakes you will have her thanks as well."

"You believe she will wake?" He could not help the hint of fear that was audible with his question.

"I do not pretend to know what has happened this night, but I know my sister to be of a strong constitution. Look - " she positioned herself in such a way to afford Mr. Darcy a better view of Elizabeth. "She sleeps now. Her colour has returned and there is not that distress we first observed in her countenance. When she is ready she will wake."

"Would that I had your optimism."

"Nay, it is not optimism - but, perhaps a sisterly intuition."

"Perhaps." Mr. Darcy replied with a minute quirk to his lips. "I will have to trust to your intuition then, Miss Bennet."

She bowed her head and that was all they said on the matter for that night. Unvoiced between them was still the desire to hear from Elizabeth herself what had happened. It would not do to be impatient, for it would only drag the hours by an even slower pace than the actuality of their passing minutes. Yet how was he expected to fall into any fitful slumber when thoughts of Elizabeth and the visitor from the Other World plagued his mind.

Despite his aggravated state, the warmth of his room and the lulling flame of the dying fire was influence enough to hypnotize Mr. Darcy into an uncomfortable doze on one of his chairs. His dreams were filled with shrieking maidens and ghastly faces devoid of all life, floating menacingly around Elizabeth. Getting ever closer and closer while he was immobilized; incapable of coming to her aid. He tossed restlessly in his chair, as uncomfortable as if he'd been laid on a marble floor to sleep, though he never woke until early the next morning.

The dawn found him with a rather nasty kink in his neck and sore muscles abounding. The fire had petered out hours ago and unsurprisingly he felt the nip of the winter morning. He shivered slightly, becoming aware of the sheen of sweat that coated his brow, telling of his troubled night. With a groan he rose from his chair, glad to part ways with it, and began preparing himself for the day. As eager as he was to see how Elizabeth fared come the morning, he did not wish to repeat the previous nights impropriety of dress. Therefore, he arranged himself, albeit hurriedly, in a manner befitting his station. As he dressed he pondered his next steps. Would it do to repair to the dining room and breakfast while he awaited news with the rest of the household? Or - and far more appealing - since he was one of their traveling party and assumed some responsibility for their welfare, should he not check in on Elisabeth and Miss Bennet first?

Perhaps Mrs. Treggels already had. But, no, he had not heard her.

He checked his watch. It was half past 6 o'clock. He sighed.

Perhaps if he knocked very quietly on their door, in the event they still slept. He gave his reflection a curt nod as he fitted his cravat around his throat. Yes, a very quiet knock.

* * *

Stunned, Sophie had bid Phillipa a hasty farewell, almost forgetting her handbag and journal in the process and now stood confused outside the spiritualist's shop. She looked at nothing that was in front of her, for she could not see anything other than that dark room with two faces that stared at her with such horror. One had sent a pang to her heart that made her gasp in an unshed sob, while the other was a stranger. She had never thought to see such terrified fear in her sister's eyes when looking at her. She could not describe even to herself how wrong it all felt.

What was more, her question of who Sophie Devon was, was answered with startling clarity. More than she had anticipated.

How was she meant to go on now? If they were truly of the same soul and the only difference that separated them were their reincarnated bodies in different eras then she was not sure that she would ever see her family again. There had been a sense of finality in her glimpse of her old life and not a small amount of sadness. She barely recognized anything she saw, save Jane. The room was wholly unfamiliar and the gentleman was a complete stranger to her. She felt disinclined towards him as he had viewed her with such horrified animus that turned his otherwise fine features into something repugnant to her. She tried to forget him.

Unknowingly, her feet were taking her away from Phillipa and meandering her in a direction towards home. She heeded nothing in passing. Her thoughts were too dark and absorbed to consider anything else. She felt a growing resentment towards Sophie Devon, letting all her fear and anger charge towards that unsuspecting person.

But then she stopped and a humourless chuckle emitted lowly from her throat as she realized she was only directing her wrath at a version of herself.

"How hopeless this is." She muttered.

In all her life she had never felt so alone and was surprised at how desperately she missed her mother. "Oh mamma! If only I could hear your voice in all your exclamations and see Father horridly hiding his exasperation with you! If only Kitty and Lydia could appear to me and envelop me in all their gossip and giggles, and bring me home to Longbourn to all of you! To Jane and Mary! And even dear Charlotte. Oh! If only none of this had happened!" She cried, mumbling all the wishes of her heart quietly to herself.

By the time she reached her and Jules' flat she was silently crying, wiping away the tears as soon as she felt them spill over. She wished to be left undisturbed and was grateful to find the flat empty save for Jax. Hurrying to her room, she shut the door and fell to her bed. The tears now went unchecked and her sobs filled the whole of the apartment, quieting only after all her energy was spent.

With red eyes, she lay belly down, hugging a pillow to her face and bringing to mind all her memories of her past life. It was a torture as well as a treat and one she could not bring herself to stop. The description of her family in the book had nothing to her memories and she promised to cherish them always, for she knew, deep in her heart, she would not be seeing them again.


End file.
